


All That Might Be:  Possibilities

by Penthesilea1623



Series: All That Might Be [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Build, True Love, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 226,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than two years after her return from the Deep Roads, Hawke is now living in Hightown and trying to adapt to life as a noble of Kirkwall.  Sebastian Vael is still undecided as to whether to renew his vows and continue his life as a priest or give up that life and try and take back the throne of Starkhaven.  A chance meeting leads to a renewed friendship and the possibility of something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Ball

**Author's Note:**

> The story begins a little more than two years after the events of **All That Might Be: Changes**.

>   
> _And His Word became all that might be:_  
>  _Dream and idea, hope and fear,_  
>  _Endless possibilities._  
>  __
> 
> #####  _Threnodies 5:1
> 
> ##### 
> 
> _
>
>> Hawke picked up the basket and carefully opened the door to the hidden entrance just a crack to make sure no one was lingering outside. She didn't want all of the Undercity discovering the way into her basement, after all. The area was deserted. She locked the door behind her, hurrying towards the clinic. She was late. The clinic was crowded, but not as crowded as she’d sometimes seen it, and no one seemed to be bleeding excessively. Good. She could steal Anders away, make him eat a decent meal.

She found him in the back, lecturing a bored looking Isabela. 

“Just don’t come running to me the next time you pick up one of these things.” He was warning her. He looked up and smiled when he saw Hawke walking towards him. 

The pirate just scowled at him. “Isn’t that what magic is for?” She turned around and left, giving Hawke a lazy smile as she passed her. 

Hawke raised a perfectly arched brow as she walked up to Anders “I really don’t want to know, do I?” she asked.

Anders shook his head. “You really don’t. Isabela seems to think the Maker made mages solely to cure her of whatever she’s picked up from her latest bed partner.” 

“That’s our Izzy.” Said Hawke absently, looking around the clinic until she spotted the woman she’d been looking for. “Annalise!” she called. “I’m stealing your healer and feeding him. We’ll be in the back.”

Annalise nodded approvingly. “Good. Someone needs to.” Hawke turned towards the storage room basket in hand. Annalise gave Anders a suggestive look which he pointedly ignored. He caught up to Hawke, taking the basket from her hands.

“You’re late.” He commented. “I was getting worried.” It was ridiculous that he had worried. Ridiculous but inevitable.

“I know. I’m sorry. I had a good reason though. I was summoned to the Keep for a meeting with the Viscount. I hope you’re suitably impressed.” She cleared a space on the table he used to make his potions and poultices.

“Well aren’t you the important one?” He said looking her over. She was in her usual leather armor but it was a particularly beautiful set, a deep oxblood color with a tooled black vine design down the front, worn over a fine silk shirt of the same deep red. The color should have clashed with her flame colored hair, he thought looking at the thick fishtail braid that lay over one shoulder, but somehow it didn’t. “So what did he want?” He asked unpacking the basket. “Hawke, there’s enough food in here for a dozen people.” He said, as he pulled out what appeared to be a second roast chicken.

“Yes, well I know the way you give your food away. I figure if I bring enough perhaps at least some of it will make it into your stomach.” She grabbed an apple for herself and took a bite. “What was I saying?” she asked swallowing.

“The Viscount.” He prompted. He tore off a drumstick and bit into it, only realizing as he did so just how hungry he was. He sank into the chair. He hadn’t sat all morning he realized, stretching out his legs in front of him.

“Right.” She pulled over a wooden crate and sat cross legged on that. “He was actually just passing along a message from someone else.” She looked unaccountably pleased. “Guess who?” She demanded.

“I have no idea.” With Hawke it could have been anyone. With the Viscount’s involvement it was even more of a mystery.

“The Arishok.” She laughed, delighted at the stunned expression on his face. “I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” She took another bite of the apple.

Perhaps not the word he would have chosen. “Why on Thedas does the Arishok want to see you?”

“No idea. The Viscount doesn’t know either. But he asked for me by name. The Arishok knows my name!” 

Anders wasn’t at all certain that was a good thing. “You haven’t had any encounters with the Qunari lately, have you?” he asked with a frown.

She shook her head. “Not for years. I’ve absolutely no idea what he could want. I was talking to Saemus about it. He doesn’t know either, and he has far more contact with the Qunari than I do.”

“Saemus?” He asked, not able to put a face to the name. 

“Saemus Dumar. You remember, the Viscount’s son. Try some of the cheese. The shopkeeper swore it just arrived on a boat from Fereldan. I told him I didn’t want any of that stinky Orlesian stuff.” She pulled a piece off the loaf of bread she'd brought and passed that to him as well. “I was sure I was in some kind of trouble when Bran’s note arrived this morning, but even he was being nice to me.” She cut herself a piece of the cheese, and nibbled delicately before adding, “But I think that’s unrelated to the whole Arishok thing. I suspect he and Leandra are conspiring.”

He tore the second drumstick off the chicken. “That’s a frightening thought. What would those two have to conspire about.”

“Leandra’s trying to fix me up with Bran’s son. He’s about my age. She thinks she’s being very subtle about it.”

He frowned. “Fix you up?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Leandra’s decided that her latest mission in life is to find me a husband.” Her eyes were twinkling as if it were a fine joke. 

Anders just stared at her. Hawke married. Married to some fine nobleman up in Hightown. He looked at her in her custom made leathers, thought of the food and seemingly endless supplies for the clinic she constantly brought him, with no expectation of repayment. Her mansion by the steps to the Keep. Of her being summoned to the Keep to meet with the Viscount. Her mother trying to arrange a suitable marriage. She was living in a world he could never be a part of. Or maybe he was living in one that she wouldn’t be a part of, not for long. He put down the chicken, suddenly not hungry at all, and sat there unaware of the frown on his face. 

Hawke looked at him wondering why he didn’t find the idea as ridiculous as she did. He looked so worn out, she thought. Thinner and shabbier than ever. Still handsome, but lately there was a frantic look to his eyes that was making her worry. She reached out a hand and touched his face. “You look exhausted.” She said softly.

He pulled away. “Not all of us have luxurious beds in Hightown where we can sleep undisturbed every night.” He said sharply and winced even as the words left his mouth.

She pulled back her hand and just looked at him for a moment before getting to her feet. “That wasn’t especially kind of you.” she pointed out. It wasn’t the first time he had lashed out at her suddenly, for no apparent reason, and it had been happening more frequently of late. “Is there any particular reason? Or am I just conveniently in front of you? Are you done with this?” She asked and not waiting for an answer to either question wrapped up the chicken and put it back in the basket.

He didn’t know why he had said it. He came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Hawke. I’m taking my mood out on you. Things are getting worse. I had Templars practically on my doorstep last night.” Let her think that was his main concern. Maker knew it was one of them.

She quickly turned around to face him. “Were they hunting you?” she asked, her irritation immediately forgotten. She thought she and Varric between them had taken care of this. She’d have to talk to Varric. See what else they could do. Who else needed to be paid off or threatened. Or both.

Anders shook his head, carefully wrapping up the bread and cheese. “Not me specifically. They were checking the refugee camps again. But it’s not like this place is a secret. It’s only a matter of time.” 

A small frown furrowed her brow. There was no doubt the Knight Commander had been cracking down on mages lately. It was even being talked of in the parties Leandra dragged her to, and if the nobles had noticed it, it must be bad. She knew Anders was working with the Mage Underground, and she suspected he was one of the leaders, if not the leader in Kirkwall. She wasn’t sure. He refused to talk to her about it. But she knew what would happen if the Templars did take him. Tranquility, without a doubt. She looked up at him, imagining those whiskey colored eyes blank and empty. She wouldn't let that happen.

"Don’t tell me things like that. I’m going to have to lock you away just to keep you safe.” Her tone was light, but she wasn’t smiling, and her eyes were anxious as she looked at him.

His hand briefly reached out and stroked her cheek. “Sweetheart I’m not letting anyone lock me up. Not even you.” His eyes were warm and he gave her a teasing smile that she couldn’t help answering with one of her own.

She loved that little smirk of a smile. The one that made his eyes glow amber. She didn’t see it much recently. It gave her a glimpse of what he might have been before Justice, or before the wardens, or what he might have been like if he had never been brought to the Circle at all. Even as she looked at him, the smile had disappeared, and the scowl was back. 

He began pacing as he spoke. “The Knight Commander’s out of control. Even her own people are talking about it. The raids on mages families. The curfews. Everyone I know forced into hiding to keep from being made tranquil.” Hawke felt just a shiver of magic, and knew what it was even before she saw the hint of blue in Anders’ eyes.

“Is it making things difficult for you. With Justice?” she asked carefully.

He took a deep breath and the blue disappeared. “When he sees the Templars, the injustices mages suffer, he doesn’t want to hold back. I worry what my friend has become. What my anger did to him. He's frustrated. There’s no time in the Fade. He doesn’t understand having to wait until the time is right. He has no patience. But I can’t say I have any more than him of late.”

“Well, if they want you they’ll have to go through me first.” She said fiercely, “I won’t let them harm you.” 

He looked at her, sudden desperation in his eyes. “And what if you’re at as much risk as I am?” he asked. “What if the Knight Commander finds out what you can do? What it your money and position aren’t enough to protect you?” It was the thing that kept him awake at night.

“Anders.” She gave him an exasperated look. “How many tests have you done on me? In over two years you’ve never felt any magic from me.” 

“No, I haven’t.” He admitted. But what if he weren’t testing the right thing? She could sense magic, sense mages. What if the Templars had some other means of detecting that. He didn’t think they did. He’d never even heard of anyone who could sense mages when they weren’t casting. Maybe she was safe. But just the thought of Hawke at the mercy of the Knight Commander and her Templars. His fists clenched at his sides. He felt Justice begin to stir again. 

Hawke was immediately at his side. She reached up and pulled his head down so his forehead rested against hers. Her hands stroked his hair. She could feel when Justice was disturbed, he realized, and he wondered that it had never occurred to him before that she might be able to do so. Justice grew even more agitated at the realization. Her eyes were filled with concern for him, not for herself, of course. Why did she never put herself first? He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of her. letting himself relax into her touch. He felt Justice quiet. His hands went to her waist, clutching almost desperately. 

“Everything I’ve done to control this, to control Justice. If it would keep you safe I don’t care. I would drown us both in blood.” He muttered.

Anabel just raised a dubious eyebrow, and continued stroking his hair. “You don’t think flowers or jewelry might be more appropriate?” she said in a gently teasing tone.

He pulled away from her, unsmiling. “You know that’s not the kind of thing I can offer you.” he said bleakly.

Her hands fell to her side. “And you know that’s not important to me.” She said simply. He turned away. “Don’t you ever wonder about it? What we might be like together?”

 _Every day_. He shook his head in denial. “No. You don’t know what you’d be doing if you tied yourself to me.” 

She gave him an exasperated look. “Of course I don’t know. Every time I try to get close to you, you push me away.” She honestly didn’t even know if she really wanted it. She loved Anders. She didn’t think she was in love with him, exactly. Isabela insisted she wasn’t. There hadn’t been any repeat of anything like that amazing kiss they’d shared in the Deep Roads. But she wasn't certain that she couldn't fall in love with him either. 

“I’m not safe.” He insisted. “My control is fraying. I won't be able to control Justice for much longer. I’m dangerous.” 

“That’s Justice talking, not you.” She said sharply, wanting to throttle him. Wanting to throttle Justice, actually.

His voice took on a hint of anger. “We’re one and the same. When will you understand that?” 

She just shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that. And I’m not afraid of him.” She said it with absolute certainty. 

He just stared at her. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such faith. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a punishment. Here he sat in his sewer of a clinic, haggard, tired, unshaven, probably not very clean, and there she stood in front of him in her fine clothes, her face wide open, hiding nothing, convinced he was worth caring about. If she persisted in this, the two of them, if she started demanding something more from him, he didn’t know how he could resist her. It was taking so much effort to keep the distance between them. Effort he should be putting into helping the mages. Effort he needed to be putting into keeping Justice under control. How much easier it would it be to just grab her, press her against the wall, kiss her the way he really wanted to. Would that be such a disaster? He knew the answer. “You should have a normal life.” He finally said. “I can’t give you that.”

She let out a groan of frustration. “Maker, I hate it when you say that. As if I’ve ever had anything close to a normal life. Like I have no idea what it’s like to live with an apostate. Stop treating me like a child!” She said, stomping her small foot on the ground. 

He looked down at her foot and then up at her face and just raised his eyebrows. He couldn't keep a small smile off his face.

“Oh shut up.” She said glaring at him. “You really are the most frustrating person I know. And I know a lot of frustrating people.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and she let her head rest against his side for a moment before she pulled away with a sigh. “I should go. I’ve got to get ready for a thing tonight.” She sounded utterly resigned.

“A thing?” He asked.

“A state dinner for the Orlesian ambassador. Dinner and a ball actually.”

“Sounds important.” 

“Sounds dull as dry toast you mean. I intend to escape at the earliest opportunity and head to the Hanged Man. Will you be there?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. I have a prior commitment.” He wouldn't meet her eyes.

Her face lit up. “Is it the Underground?“ She asked in a low but eager voice. “Let me go with you. I don’t have to go to this ridiculous party. I can help.”

“No.” No reason offered. Just a no. Like everytime she asked about the Underground.

“I’ll be fine. You know I can protect myself. I can protect whomever you’re helping. You don’t need to worry about me.” She said, trying to convince him.

“That’s not it.” he said, suddenly closed off.

“Then why won’t you ever bring me to one of these meetings?”

His face was carefully blank. “You have too many ties to the nobles and the Templars in this town.”

Her expression faltered briefly. “You mean they don’t trust me? Couldn’t you talk to them? Tell them about my father? About Bethany? Wouldn’t it make a difference if they knew?”

He just looked at her.

And then she realized. “Shit.” She said softly looking away. “It’s not them, it’s you, isn’t it?” she said looking back at him. Her eyes were disbelieving.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” he started to say.

She just stared at him, staggered by the realization. “Yes. It is. That’s exactly what it is. Because of some of the decisions I’ve made. Feynriel. The Starkhaven mages.” 

Anders didn’t say anything right away, but the look in his eyes gave her the answer. “I’ve never hidden from you how I felt about those decisions.” He said eventually.

“You’re right. You haven’t.” She didn't speak for a moment. “Right then. I’ve got to go.” She turned and walked out of the storage room, blinking furiously. She was not going to cry about this. Not here anyway.

Anders quickly followed her out into the clinic. “Hawke.” He called, his voice pleading. 

She whirled around to face him, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Don’t you Hawke me! You know how many mages I’ve helped, how many laws I’ve broken. You know I don’t treat mages any differently than anyone else in this city. But if you think I’m going to give a free pass to someone who’s a danger to Kirkwall just because they are a mage, then you really don’t know me at all. How dare you find fault with me for that? After everything we’ve been through together. How dare you say you don’t trust me?” She was almost shouting now, and the people left in the clinic were studiously not looking at them.

“I do trust you.” He protested. 

Her blue green eyes were brilliant with unshed tears as she looked at him, and she simply shook her head. “Not enough, apparently.” She turned away. “I have to go. I have a thing.” 

He watched as she walked out of the clinic without looking back. 

 

It was just getting dark when Sebastian knocked on the door to the Grand Cleric’s rooms, somehow resisting the urge to pull at the collar of his new doublet. At her gentle “Come in.” he pushed open the door and entered the room.

Elthina was seated in an armchair by the fire, a cup of tea on a small table beside her. She looked him over carefully as he approached. In his formal clothes he looked every inch the prince. The Chantry brother he’d been for the last twelve years was nowhere to be seen. Well, almost nowhere, she thought, noting that he’d chosen a dark grey brocade shot through with gold threads for his finery, a perfect match for the Chantry robes he usually wore. 

“Very nice.” Said Elthina, her tone carefully neutral.

“I feel a perfect fool.” He admitted. “It’s been so long since I had to dress for anything of this sort. Do I look as awkward and uncomfortable as I feel?” It had been over decade since he’d been to any sort of state occasion. The formal clothes felt utterly foreign to him.

“Not at all." she said in a soothing tone. "This will give you an chance to get used to them. Such formal occasions will be an unavoidable part of your duties should you choose to return to Starkhaven.” She pointed out.

“I’m aware of that.” Sebastian said, trying not to sound petulant. _I’d just been hoping to avoid it a bit longer_ , he thought with a sigh. “I apologize, your Grace. I’m not looking forward to this evening. The superficiality, the small talk, everyone wrapped up in petty politics and intrigues. I despised that long before I became a priest. My time in the Chantry has been a welcome respite from it.”

“It’s you who are refusing to renew your vows, Sebastian. It’s been over two years since you renounced them. Enough time has passed. You know my feelings on the subject. You can retake your vows whenever you wish.” Her voice was serene, not in any way judgmental. 

He shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet. You know my reasons better than anyone.” He said, despising his own uncertainty. Two years. Had it really been so long? 

Two years as a lay brother, continuing to assist at services, hear confessions. When Brother Cyrus had passed away last winter he had officially taken over as Elthina’s secretary. He took comfort in the familiarity of the routine, found the work worthwhile, pleasing even, but he’d never quite regained that sense of belonging that he’d possessed before his family’s murder. 

Two years, and he was still torn between life as a priest and life as a prince. He’d had meetings with the Viscount, had travelled to other cities in the Free Marches to speak with other rulers, to gauge if they would give their support to his endeavor, to try and decide if it would be in everyone’s best interests for him to take the throne of Starkhaven. He had even met with a few supporters from Starkhaven itself, and still he was no closer to a decision. Some had pledged aid if he decided to return, but he would need more gold, more soldiers, more support if he were to do so. And lives would be lost on both sides were he to go ahead with it. 

He didn’t know if he could do that, be the reason for those deaths. Word from Starkhaven was that his cousin Goran was proving an indifferent ruler at worst. He made no demands that could be considered unreasonable. No one seemed to be suffering unduly. Trade continued. Life continued. 

Could he ask men to go to their deaths just for his revenge, just so one of his father’s sons would wear the crown? Would it not be better for everyone involved if he remained where he was, if he simply renewed his vows, resumed his life in the Chantry?

He honestly didn’t know. He looked helplessly at Elthina.

Elthina watched him carefully, well aware of the conflict going through his mind. They had discussed it so often in the last two years. “I think it’s important that you attend tonight’s event. You know the life of a priest and what it entails. I think perhaps you need a taste of that other life. If you cannot tolerate an evening of it, how will you tolerate it for a lifetime?”

“I know. It’s something I need to do. I do understand that.” He hesitated for a moment before asking “Do I look all right?”

Elthina looked at him, tall and elegant. The cut of his clothing was simple, but the fabrics were rich and of the highest quality. His looks made him stand out even in his priest’s robes. Dressed as a nobleman there was no hiding how very handsome he was. She smiled at him. “More than just all right. Let yourself enjoy the evening, Sebastian. It might surprise you.” 

He couldn’t help a small snort of disbelief at the idea. “I’ll return before the doors are locked for the evening.” He insisted. That meant he would only have to stay for the reception, dinner and possibly one or two dances at the ball itself.

“Nonsense.” Said Elthina. She reached over and picked up a key that was lying next to her teacup and handed it to him. “This is the key to the side door under the stairs. As you will no doubt be attending other events that will require you to keep somewhat different hours than the other brothers and sisters I thought it wise that you should have your own copy. There is no need for you to hurry back early tonight. Enjoy yourself.” She somehow made it sound like a command.

“Thank you Grand Cleric.” He said and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He looked at the key in his hand. He was dreading the evening ahead.


	2. A Good Place to Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Sebastian run into each other while trying to avoid the Viscount's ball.

Anabel looked up in surprise from the copy of _The Traveler’s Guide to Antiva_ she’d been leafing through as the door to the library opened suddenly, and a man ducked inside, quickly closing it behind him and resting his forehead against it. 

She’d escaped the reception and snuck away to the library when she’d been unable to keep the false smile plastered on her face for a moment longer. She was hiding. Sulking if she were perfectly honest, still feeling the sting of Anders’ mistrust, and standing around listening to her mother’s friends complain about their problems with servants, with dressmakers, with elves had become more than she could bear. Apparently she hadn’t been the only to reach her tolerance level tonight. 

He was definitely a noble, she decided from the fine cut of his clothing, and he obviously didn’t realize anyone else was in here. She uncurled from the window seat and was about to open her mouth to let him know he wasn’t alone, when he spoke.

“Blessed Andraste, how did I let myself be talked into coming here?” 

She went still and immediately her heart started pounding. Sebastian Vael. The voice was unmistakable. She hadn’t been this close to him in years. Not since that day in the Chantry garden. 

She delicately cleared her throat, letting him know someone else was in the room (and wouldn’t Leandra be proud of her for remembering that bit of etiquette). “I’ve been asking myself much the same question.” She said. 

For a moment he froze and then he turned to face her. “Hawke?” He asked, peering into the dimly lit room.

He hadn’t forgotten her. That shouldn’t please her as much as it did. He was a Chantry brother. He was a prince. He wasn’t hers to have. She put the book on the cushion beside her and got to her feet, determined to keep her composure. “We haven’t spoken for ages, have we?” She asked. She moved closer as she spoke, stepping into the light from the fire.

Sebastian just stared. Anabel Hawke. But looking far different than when he’d last seen her.

The first time he’d seen her in the Chantry she’d still had something of the girl about her. Face a little round, limbs a little awkward. Since he’d last seen her she had lost any trace of that girlishness. Her skin was smooth and white, almost glowing in the firelight, not a trace of the freckles that used to sprinkle her nose and cheekbones. The cheekbones themselves were more pronounced, giving her face a more elegant look, a sophistication that hadn’t been there before. Her eyes were still the same remarkable mix of blue and green, but they seemed larger. That magnificent hair was pulled smoothly back into a heavy braided chignon at the base of her slender neck, and for once not a curl had escaped. Her lush mouth with that ridiculously full upper lip lips was still the color of ripe strawberries but now smooth and moist. He suddenly remembered in vivid detail how close he had come to kissing her that day. 

He couldn’t keep from staring at her. 

She had been lovely before. Now, two years later she was quite simply one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. A striking beauty, one that caught the eye, that made you turn and look again. That made you unable to stop looking, apparently.

He’d had no contact at all with her since her elevation to Hightown society. His reaction to her in the Chantry garden had unnerved him badly, and he’d deliberately distanced himself from her. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, though, and he couldn’t avoid hearing tales of her. Indeed, Hightown gossip could talk of little else for a time.

She’d bought the old Amell mansion for her mother, and had it restored to what people said was beyond its original grandeur. But where some would just have retired with their piles of gold to live a life of luxury, she had gained a reputation for fighting for the underdogs, battling blood mages, smugglers, slavers and gangs, and refusing pay for most of her work. She was equally known for her motley group of Lowtown companions that she’d refused to abandon when she’d moved to her mansion by the Keep. Almost two years had passed since her return from the Deep Roads, and Hightown still didn’t know what to make of her. 

Sebastian had watched her from distance and thought her magnificent. Rarely, he would see her accompanying her mother to a Chantry service, though she never lingered afterwards. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of her striding purposefully in her leather armor through the Hightown market, sometimes with her friends, often alone, but he hadn’t spoken to her or been close to her since that afternoon in the garden.

When he failed to respond a worried frown crinkled those perfectly arched dark brows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You probably wanted to be alone. Shall I go?” She gestured to the door.

“No!” He said quickly. “Please stay. I just didn’t expect you to see you tonight. It didn’t even occur to me that you might be attending the dinner.” He shook his head and laughed at his bumbling. “Forgive me. You’ve taken me quite by surprise. You look lovely, Hawke.” Feeble word for the vision in front of him. The change in her appearance from the girl in scuffed leather armor to this elegantly gowned woman was hard to process. 

She was wearing a gown of an iridescent silk, a midnight blue that seemed to change to emerald green where the light hit it. Like her eyes he thought immediately. The gown was remarkable for its simplicity, a deep and wide square neckline, straight narrow sleeves to the wrist, form fitting to the waist, flaring into a full skirt. It was entirely unadorned except for a thin gold trim at the neckline and the hem. She wore no jewelry except what appeared to be a gold locket on a thick old fashioned chain, the locket itself hidden in the neckline of her gown. 

He’d never seen her in a dress before he realized. She looked… fragile was the wrong word. Delicate. Vulnerable, somehow, which was all the more remarkable when you considered all she accomplished. 

She smiled serenely and the dimple that had mesmerized him before briefly showed itself. She looked down at her dress, and her hand smoothed it over the gentle curve of her hip. “Do you think so? I always feel the most terrible fraud when I’m dressed up like this. I keep expecting someone to ask what I’m doing here and cart me back to my Uncle’s house in Lowtown.” 

She walked back to the window seat, picking of the book she had left there, hoping her heart would stop racing so ridiculously. “Who are you hiding from?” She asked over her shoulder as she carried it to one of the bookcases.

“Was I that obvious?” He asked ruefully, walking towards her.

She smiled. “I recognize the signs.” She pushed the book back into place and ran a hand down the spine as if she had trouble leaving it there. He noticed her nails were now neatly manicured, and her hands smooth. He wondered if she still punched people and picked locks. It seemed unlikely. He found himself a little disappointed at the thought.

She was looking at him expectantly. 

“It’s a bit humiliating, actually.” He admitted, feeling foolish. “I was fleeing from a noblewoman with two eligible daughters.”

"Ah." She said with a knowing look. “A fearsome beast indeed. I can hardly blame you. Well, it’s a good place to hide. You're more than welcome to join me.”

Was she hiding as well, then? “I thought all proper young ladies enjoyed these sorts of gatherings.” He commented coming up beside her and leaning against the bookcase.

“That may be the problem. I’m not entirely certain I’m really a very proper young lady.” She said not sounding in the least bit concerned about it. She turned to face him. “For one thing I have the unfashionable notion that parties should be occasions spent laughing with friends and family and people you love and not gossiping and sniping about the last person to leave the room.” 

“I always suspected you were a radical.” He said with a teasing smile. “Though I must say, your parties sound much more enjoyable.”

She laughed a warm and rich sound that sent a shiver down his spine. Any hope that his attraction to her had gone was rapidly disappearing. 

“They are. The Hanged Man doesn’t have quite the ambience of the Viscount’s ballroom, but it’s always fun.” 

“The Hanged Man?” Sebastian repeated not certain he’d heard her correctly. 

“You seem surprised.” She said with another smile.

He was. “An impressive number of the confessions I hear begin with “I was at The Hanged Man”.”

She laughed again. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.” 

The Hanged Man had the reputation of being the lowest tavern in all of Kirkwall, a positive den of iniquity and vice and drunkenness. He probably would have loved it in his younger days. And Hawke was a regular there. He looked at the elegant young woman next to him and had trouble picturing it. “It has quite the reputation. Are you sure it’s wise for you to spend time there?” He said with a small frown.

“Wise? If I only did things that were wise…well let’s just say I’d have a lot of free time on my hands. And almost none of it would include time spent at the Hanged Man. But that’s half the fun of it. You should give it a try one evening. It’s not so bad once you get used to the smell. And the dirt. And the bad liquor.” She laughed at the doubtful expression on his face. “All right, it’s really quite disgusting, but I promise you, the company is unparalleled.” 

She was as enchanting as ever. “I don’t know.” He said. “The company at this party has improved immeasurably in the last few minutes.” _Where on Thedas had that come from?_ Much to his surprise, Hawke blushed, an action entirely at odds with her newly acquired sophistication, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her pink cheeks, though he quickly changed the subject, wanting to put her at ease. “I heard your brother is now a Grey Warden. I was glad to find out he had made it. Do you hear from him often?” 

“Mother gets the occasional letter. He seems quite content, but he always was if given the opportunity to hit things repeatedly with a big sword. He’s a simple creature really.” She said with a fond smile. 

“He doesn’t write to you?” He asked, surprised. Given what he had seen of how close they were, it was surprising to hear.

She shrugged. “Writing was never his forte. And letters are a poor substitute for being together. They seem to just emphasize the absence.” She gave a reluctant sigh. “Never mind. We’ll work it out eventually. We’re both alive and well, that’s what’s important.” She looked up to find him smiling enigmatically. 

“What?” She asked carefully, not certain what the smile meant.

“You’ve become an optimist since last we spoke.” He said, looking pleased.

Her mouth curved and he was again distracted by her dimple. “I suppose I have. You’re to blame for that. I had been so convinced that Carver wouldn’t make it when we spoke, and then barely a fortnight later we get a letter from his commander saying he was fine and officially a warden. You were right. I could let myself hope.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for that.”

For a moment he couldn’t speak, mesmerized as he was by those eyes. With great effort he said. “I’m just glad I could help.” He couldn’t help remembering that day. “Are things better between you and your mother?” he asked.

She hesitated for just a moment, but that hesitation told more than her response. “Let’s say we’ve established an armed truce.” She walked over to the window seat, picking up a pair of shoes he hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t wearing and tossed them on the floor in front of her. She looked over at him as she put a hand to the wall to balance herself, and wiggled her feet into them.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these parties before.” She said casually.

He knew a deliberate change of subject when he heard one. “The Grand Cleric was unable to attend, and asked me to come in her stead. She’s punishing me for wavering about renewing my vows, I think.” 

So he hadn’t renewed his vows. But apparently he hadn’t ruled it out either. “You have my sympathies. I know all about how well mothers can wield guilt as a weapon.” She said.

“Elthina’s been very kind.” He said, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “She’s let me stay on as a lay brother, while I figure out what to do next. She’s always receiving invitations, but parties tire her. Sparing her this is the least I can do to repay her. And it’s good for me to get into the habit of attending such things.” He suddenly realized what she had said. “You called Elthina my mother.” 

She shrugged. “It was just an impression I had.” 

“An accurate one. Elthina is more of a mother to me than my own ever was.” 

“She seemed wonderful when I met her. You’re lucky to have found each other.” 

“I am indeed.” He looked carefully at her. As astute as ever, it seemed. Beautiful, intelligent, and charming. Why was she spending the evening hiding in a library? “So who are you hiding from?” he asked.

She didn’t even try to deny it. “No one. And everyone. My tolerance for snobbery and insincerity is remarkably low today.”

“Any particular reason?” 

“Just out of sorts. I quarreled with a friend earlier. I don’t even know if quarreled is the right word.” She tilted her head to the side and looked at him. “Would it sound very childish if I said he hurt my feelings?”

“Perhaps a little. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He wondered who this friend was, if he was more than a friend. It had been over two years. Surely she had someone significant in her life now.

“True enough. These parties aren’t really my thing to begin with, but Mother likes to come to them, and life is immeasurably easier when Mother is happy, so every now and then I relent and come along. And when I can’t stand it anymore, the gossip, the pettiness, the ridiculousness of it all, I sneak off to libraries and studies.”

“You’re a reader then?” He asked, remembering the way she’d looked at the books in Brother Plinth’s study.

“Oh, yes. I’ve always loved books. The smell of them, the feel. Growing up there was never money for them, and they’re hardly the most portable items in any case. Now that I have the resources, I’ve been slowly filling our bookshelves. I’m always on the lookout for something new, or at least something new for me. This gives me the opportunity to see what books are out there, what I might like to find a copy of for my own collection. That way at least the evening’s never a total loss.” 

“You should come and see the Chantry library.” He found himself offering. 

Her eyes lit up as if he had offered her jewels. “Do you think I could? The Chantry library must be amazing. And I’d love to learn more about it. The Chantry I mean. The history of it. Not just what they preach at you, but what actually happened. Do you really think it would be all right?” 

“Of course.” He said, “I’m sure the Grand Cleric would love to have one of her flock take an interest.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure if I qualify as one of her flock. More of a stray sneaking in. Would you really help me? Choose books, I mean. Steer me away from the rubbish ones and all?” 

He watched her excitement grow. So the liveliness was still there. He had been a bit disconcerted by the serene young lady she’d appeared to have become. He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I’d be happy to, Hawke.” 

“Thank you.” She tilted her head and looked at him appraisingly. “You’re still the nicest man. I’m glad that hasn’t changed. I must say, I never expected a prince and a priest would be well, so nice.” 

“What did you think I’d be like?”

“Priggish and preachy and stuck up.” She said without any hesitation. He laughed aloud. He never could predict what she would say. “But you’re not at all. You’re actually quite lovely.” 

“Lovely?” His eyebrows raised. “I don’t think anyone’s accused me of that before.”

She flushed. “Inside I mean. Well outside too. But I meant inside. Sorry.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m still incapable of keeping my mouth shut, as you can see.”

“I’m glad of it. I was a little worried. You seemed such a proper young lady. I was briefly afraid you’d lost some of that spontaneity.”

“No need to worry on that point. I still spend an inordinate amount of time saying entirely the wrong thing at exactly the wrong moment.” She said laughing.

“Not at all.” He reassured her. “I always know where I stand with you Hawke. That’s a rare quality in Kirkwall.”

She gave a most unladylike snort, and still managed to look adorable. “Isn’t that an understatement.”

They heard two loud voices coming down the hall. “Don’t bother with that door Fifi. That’s just the library. He wouldn’t go in there.”

“He might. He’s a Chantry brother. Don’t they read all the time?” She sounded uncertain. 

Sebastian watched with horror as the doorknob began turn. Without thinking he grabbed Hawke by the hand and yanked her into the alcove of the window seat, pulling the curtain in front of them shut. Before he could reach to pull the other side the door opened and he quickly ducked out of sight. He ended up pressed flush against Hawke, who in turn was backed up against the wall of the window seat. Her hands automatically went to his chest to steady herself. Maker he was tall, she thought, tilting back her head to look at him. She wobbled on the unfamiliar heels of her dancing shoes, and his arms went automatically around her to steady her. 

Her eyes widened at the feel of those arms, of being positively enfolded like that. Nothing should feel this good, certainly nothing involving a man sworn to Andraste. 

He saw the expression on her face and opened his mouth to apologize at the familiarity and she quickly lifted two fingers, resting them lightly against his lips to quiet him, cocking her head to listen. 

“I told you the Prince wasn’t in here. Nobody would come in here in the middle of a ball but that Amell girl.” 

Outrageous Orlesian accent. Utterly contemptuous tone. Disparaging remark about her. The De Launcet sisters, of course. Sebastian exhaled gently, his breath warm against her fingers and she suddenly realized she was resting her fingers on his lips. She managed to resist the impulse to run her fingers against them,quickly pulling her hand back. She could swear her fingers were tingling just from that brief touch.

Fifi was sniffing in agreement. “She’s so odd. Pretending to read. Did Lorna Reinhardt tell you she found her in her father’s study last week at their ball?"

Pretending to read? What, because being a bookworm had won her such admiration?

“And did you see how she dressed tonight?” Babette rejoined “No decoration on her dress at all, no ribbons or ruffles, just that boring blue. And the style. Where did she find that?”

It’s an Antivan style, you ignorant twit, thought Hawke. Her dressmaker, a friend of Isabela’s, had suggested it after they’d agreed that the current fashion of bows and patterns and banding and ruffles would just swallow her up, small as she was.

Sebastian saw Hawke glance down at her dress with a frown, and he silently cursed Babette De Launcet for making Hawke doubt herself. True, Hawke had ignored the current fashion but Sebastian liked the simplicity. It was certainly a vast improvement over what most of the women here tonight were wearing.

“And that frumpy old fashioned locket she wears all the time.” 

Hawkes’s hand went automatically to the locket and he suddenly recognized it. She was wearing his grandmother’s locket. How in Thedas did she still have that? And why? As desperate as she had been for funds when he gave it to her, he would have thought it would have been traded for sovereigns long ago. Why would she be wearing it now when she had the money for much more extravagant jewels?

Fifi and Babette were still talking.

“And her hair. That red is so vulgar.”

 _Honestly,_ thought Anabel. _Who did they find fault with before I moved to Hightown?_

“She’s so little.” Added Fifi, warming to the subject. “As small as an elf. And so unfeminine, walking around Hightown in trousers. It doesn’t matter who her mother is, it’s easy to see she’s no proper lady.” 

Sebastian looked down at the woman in his arms and almost laughed at the idea that anyone could think her unfeminine.

One of the sisters came closer to the window and he pressed closer to the wall, anchoring Hawke more securely against him, his hand pressing against the small of her back. _Dear Maker_ , he thought as he felt her soft curves press into him. Her hair still smelled of spring flowers and sandalwood, just as he remembered. 

He was in a dark alcove holding a beautiful woman flush up against himself and sniffing her. This was not at all how he had expected the evening to go. He could only imagine how it would look if either of the De Launcet girls got it into their heads to pull back the curtain. Strangely, he realized he didn’t care in the slightest. That thought alone startled him.

“Well neither one of them is in here. Let’s go back to the Hall. Maybe he’s gone back there.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

The door closed behind them and for a moment Sebastian stayed where he was, strangely reluctant to move away or let go. 

Hawke tilted her head up to look at him, both hands pressed against his chest. “I think they’re gone.” She whispered looking up at him, her eyes dark in the dim light. 

“Yes.” He said.

Neither one of them pulled away. 

Finally, reluctantly, his hands dropped from her back and she pulled slowly away and sank down on the window seat. 

She looked up at him. “Is that who you were hiding from? I can’t say I blame you. They’re awful.” She said with a small shudder.

He sat down beside her. “Among others, yes. I wasn’t expecting the mothers of Hightown to be quite so ruthless in their pursuit.”

“You poor man. No wonder you fled.”

“I’m afraid it’s my own fault. The nobility doesn’t know quite what to do with me these days. Am I a prince? A priest? Is there a fortune or was all of it left in Starkhaven?”

Her eyes were sympathetic. “It probably doesn’t hurt that you’re handsome and charming. If you’re a good dancer they’ll never let you go.” She saw the expression on his face and laughed out loud. “You are, aren’t you? Well that settles it, you’re doomed.”

He smiled in return before frowning slightly. “I’m sorry for the way they spoke of you.”

She brushed it aside. “Oh, I’ve heard it before. It doesn’t really matter what they think, does it?” She asked. 

It shouldn’t, but Sebastian couldn’t dismiss it as easily as Hawke seemed to. 

“Perhaps you should take the Amell name.” He suggested.

“Why would I?” She seemed genuinely perplexed by the notion.

“You would be nobility. You would be Lady Amell.” 

“I’m happy with who I am. A Hawke.” She said with an easy smile. 

And he realized it was true. He smiled at her. “You’re right then, you wouldn’t fit in.” 

She continued to surprise him. How often had he encountered someone who was truly comfortable with whom they were? Certainly none of the nobles he knew. His grandfather perhaps, and Elthina. They were the only ones who came to readily to mind, and he’d always thought that was a product of the years they had lived. He looked back at the girl next to him. 

“How old are you Hawke?” He asked before he could stop himself. He immediately apologized “I’m sorry, that was remarkably rude of me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be twenty-three in a few weeks.” 

As young as that? She would have been barely twenty at Ostagar. 

She watched the expressions play over his face. “Younger or older than you thought?” she asked with a smile.

“I’d never been able to decide.” Sebastian admitted. “You look younger, but act older.”

She seemed to consider this. “Better than the reverse I suppose.” 

“It’s impressive you’ve accomplished so much. All I’d accomplished at that age was to be banished to the chantry for lewd and inappropriate behavior. Though I was a bit younger.”

“Well I think that’s impressive. Especially if you were younger. So how old are you now? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“It seems only fair since I was so rude in demanding your age. I’ll be thirty-one on the winter solstice.” 

A solstice baby. “Thirty-one? You’re an old man.” She teased.

“Ancient.” He agreed. “I'd intended to shop for a cane later this week. I’d welcome your help.” 

“Of course. Perhaps we should find a nice wool shawl to keep the chill out as well.” She gave him a playful grin and then frowned. “Were you really only eighteen when your parents sent you to the Chantry?”

“I’d actually just turned nineteen. It was that celebration that proved my undoing.” He still didn’t know where the goat had come from. 

“I’m sorry.” She and Leandra might fight like cats and dogs, but Leandra had never simply washed her hands of her. It was a surprising realization.

He gave her an easy smile. “There’s no need to be. It worked out for the best.” And it had.

He was such a peaceful person. That alone made him unique among her friends. She looked at the door and sighed. “I should go back. Mother’s probably arranged for me to dance with Lord Thingie or Sir What’s His Name. She’s doing her best to marry me off.” she explained.

He frowned, not understanding why he found the thought so objectionable. “And that’s not what you want?”

“Maker, no! But try telling her that. It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage. Only when it’s negotiated like a business contract. She’s pushing the Seneschal’s son at the moment.”

“Brendan?” He had to work to keep his face neutral. He was the boy’s confessor. No. Definitely, no.

“Mmm. I’ve only met him a few times. We didn’t seem to have much in common.” She suddenly turned to him. “You’re a noble.” She said, as if it had just occurred to her.

“I’m afraid so.” He said, wondering where she was headed.

“You might be able to explain it to me: Why is it noblemen, the young ones especially, seem to only be able to deal with a woman if she’s devoid of any opinions and giggles endlessly in admiration? If you offer an opinion, they practically run screaming.”

He had to hide a smile imagining the young men of Kirkwall trying to keep up with Hawke. He considered the question. “I imagine it makes dealing with the opposite sex less frightening if you don’t have to engage your mind as well as your body.” 

She frowned. “But don’t you have to deal with the mind at some point? You can’t separate the two forever. Though,” she said, suddenly thoughtful, “that would explain some of the pairings in Hightown and the fact that business is booming at the Blooming Rose.” 

His mouth dropped open at the casual mention of the infamous Hightown brothel. He quickly closed it as Hawke continued, seemingly unaware of any faux pas.

“You’re a noble and you’re not like that. I can say anything to you.”

And frequently do, he thought with amusement. “Well, I’m glad you feel that way, but I was probably exactly like that when I was younger. When I was caught up in society life.” 

“Mother’s becoming obsessed with this whole husband thing. You’d think someone who’d run off with an apostate would understand the idea of marrying for love. But no. Leandra wants someone with wealth and position and power. She’s not going be satisfied with less it seems.” She looked over at Sebastian. “It’s a shame you’re a priest. It would make my life so much easier if I could just drag you home. Even Leandra would be satisfied if I turned up with a prince. Are you sure you don’t want to leave the Chantry and give it a go? I don’t hog the covers or snore. I am a slob though. And I’m a horrible cook, so we’d have to eat out a lot. We could hire a chef, I suppose.” 

She was still wonderfully unpredictable. One honestly never knew what she would say next. “No need. I’m actually a fairly good cook.” He surprised himself by saying. “But sadly I’m already spoken for.” He hastened to add. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Maker. He was beginning to be truly irritated by his own vacillating.

She didn’t seem to have noticed. “The best ones always are. Oh, well, that’s more room for me in the bed I suppose. You’ll tell me if you change your mind?” She looked at him with an easy smile.

“You’ll be the first to know.” He promised. Still enchanting. More enchanting, if that were possible.

She was looking at the door with all the enthusiasm of someone about to have a tooth pulled. He wondered if the way the De Launcet sisters spoke of her was typical of how she was treated at these parties and an idea suddenly occurred to him.

“You know,” he said. “It might be to our advantage to return to the party together.”

She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

“You said it yourself. Your mother would be satisfied with a prince. And perhaps it might discourage the more enthusiastic Hightown ladies if it appeared that my attentions were firmly fixed on another.” 

“You mean pretend that you and I...”

“Nothing untoward. You and I will just remain at each other’s side. Let people assume what you and I both know they will.”

“That’s surprisingly devious of you." she said, looking impressed. "You won’t get in any trouble?”

“Not at all.” He said, looking forward to the evening for the first time since he’d arrived at the Keep. He rose to his feet. “Shall we brave the horde together then?” He asked. 

She smiled up at him. “Yes, please.” 

He pulled her to her feet, and tucked her hand securely in the crook of his arm. As they headed for the door, it opened, and Saemus Dumar came bursting in, unfortunately dressed in teal from head to toe, his hair going in every direction, as usual. 

“There you are, Hawke. I thought I’d find you in here. Hello, Sebastian.” He said, and immediately turned back to Hawke. “I was looking for you. They’re about to start dinner. I made Bran seat you next to me.” 

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Oh, Bran must be thrilled.” 

Saemus grinned at her. “That was just a bonus.” He turned back to Sebastian. “Bran doesn’t approve of Hawke. He thinks she’s an upstart.” He explained. He made it sound like the best compliment someone could give. 

Hawke laughed. “Bran’s not far wrong.” She turned back to Sebastian. “Saemus is my partner in crime at these parties. We get into all sorts of mischief. Last week at the Tulli’s ball we a stole a whole tray of desserts and a bottle of champagne and had a picnic on the roof. “

“It was fantastic. You should have seen Lady Tulli’s face when she found us.” Chimed in Saemus.

“That was only because we took all the best desserts. Or maybe it was because we were having more fun than the people stuck downstairs at the party. I don’t expect to receive another invitation there any time soon.”

“You will if she expects me there.” Said Saemus gallantly.

“My hero.” Hawke said clasping her hands together and fluttering her eyelashes. They both started laughing.

Sebastian watched them with a smile of his own. Apparently Hawke had taken young Saemus under her wing. The last time he’d spoken to the boy he’d been utterly serious. Almost morose. But here he was, perfectly at ease, laughing and joking with Hawke.

“Keep an eye on me tonight, Saemus.” Hawke was saying. “I always seem to get into trouble in these sit down dinners.” She explained to Sebastian as they moved out of the library and into the deserted hallway. “I’ll think I’m doing fine and then I’ll look over and see my mother glaring daggers at me. Remember what happened at the De Launcet’s.” she said darkly to Saemus.

Saemus laughed. “I thought it was brilliant.” 

“What happened?” Asked Sebastian.

Saemus glanced at Hawke and just laughed again.

“It was harmless.” She insisted. “I certainly wasn’t trying to make a scene.”

“Now I am intrigued.” Said Sebastian.

She sighed. “I was explaining the Battle of Ostagar to Seamus during dinner. Mother didn’t approve.” 

There must be more to it. “Not an appropriate topic for meals?” He asked.

“There was that, but I suspect the glare was due to the fact that I was demonstrating it using the food on my dinner plate. The darkspawn were peas, and I sculpted the ruins out of mashed potatoes. There are these dwarven made Tevinter ruins down there that are magnificent. I was just trying to do them justice. But, I think it was the ogre made of creamed pearl onions that was the final straw.”

“Only because you made it talk.” Chimed in Seamus. “If you hadn’t made the growling noise no one would have noticed.” 

Sebastian’s lips twitched at the image. “I’m sorry I missed it. Had you planned an encore for tonight? Perhaps the Battle of River Dane? I’d be more than willing to pass you the gravy boat at the appropriate moment.” he said.

She laughed aloud. “Don’t tempt me. I get into enough trouble on my own. No, I think I’d best stay entirely away from food based military reenactments. I’m sure I’ll find another way to misbehave. I might use the wrong fork. And then accidentally stab someone with it. It wouldn’t surprise anyone I’m sure.”

“Just act annoyed that they bled on your dress. Nobody will even notice.” He responded wryly holding a door open for her. 

“I once knocked a whole bowl of soup onto Lady Reinhardt’s lap.” Said Saemus helpfully. 

“No! What did she do?” Hawke looked impressed.

Saemus scoffed. “Looked as me as if I were the village idiot, and then started cooing about how it was her fault. You can get away with a lot when your father’s the viscount.” He said airily. Apparently some of Hawke’s carefree attitude had rubbed off on the boy, Sebastian thought with a smile.

“Perhaps there are advantages to being nobility. You may be right.” She said to Sebastian. “Lady Reinhardt would have probably had me arrested.” 

“Hawke, start the dancing with me. Otherwise Bran will find someone awful, and I’ll make a mess of it, and Bran and my father will lecture me endlessly.” Saemus pleaded.

“Well, we can’t have that. And the dancing is the one part of these parties I actually enjoy.” She slipped her other hand into Seamus’ arm and reentered the ballroom flanked by the two most eligible men in Kirkwall. 

Sebastian could almost hear the teeth gnashing.


	3. Very Different From What I Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to their surprise Hawke and Sebastian find themselves enjoying the ball. Of course that doesn't mean it's without incident.

Sebastian watched Hawke at dinner. Her self-deprecating comments about her difficulties with sit down dinners had left him curious, but as he watched her he realized the difficulties were almost entirely nonexistent. True, she laughed more than was considered proper, and she was utterly unintimidated at being seated with the crème de la crème of Kirkwall society. True, the noblewomen at the table were sending her subtle (and some not so subtle) glares as she joked with Saemus, making him laugh out loud on several occasions, and generally charmed the gentlemen around them. And that was where the trouble lay, he suspected as he watched Hawke easily discussing complicated political challenges, books, real estate, the Qunari situation and numerous other topics not considered proper for young ladies. The younger men seemed perplexed by her, but the older ones were utterly enchanted. Her seating next to Seamus had also placed her beside the Orlesian ambassador, who was seated across from Sebastian. He was an older gentleman who had already impressed Kirkwall as being aloof and superior but he seemed completely charmed by Hawke, chatting volubly with her in Orlesian. Sebastian had been surprised to hear her answering back in the same language. He eavesdropped for a few moments. Her accent was flawless. She wasn’t quite fluent, but if she didn’t know the correct word or phrase she was quite fearless in guessing, throwing in a word in Common, or Antivan or Navarran. It was something he’d noticed many people who had a gift for languages did. He listened as she related some story about her time with the army at Ostagar.

“… et chacun est tombé vers le bas sur moi. Y compris mon frère, qui est un homme très grand, et quand le sergent est venu dans la recherche de moi il ne m'a pas même vu. J'étais chanceux.” ( _and everyone fell down on me. Including my brother who's a big man, and when the sergeant came in looking for me he didn’t even see me. I was lucky._ "

“Vous êtes très chanceux. Votre frère est ici ce soir? ( _you were very lucky. Is your brother here tonight?_ ) the Ambassador asked.

“Non, il ne vit pas dans Kirkwall. Il est …” ( _no, he doesn’t live in Kirkwall. He is…_ ) Her mind suddenly blanked. How did you say Grey Warden in Orlesian? She looked up to see Sebastian watching her.

“Le frère de Damoiselle Hawke est un Gardien Gris. ( _Damoiselle Hawke’s brother is a Grey Warden_ )” He offered before she could even ask for his help. She gave a him a grateful look before turning back to the Ambassador.

The Ambassador looked impressed. “C'est une vocation honorable. ( _It’s an honorable calling._ )”

She smiled proudly. “Oui, très honorable. ( _yes, very honorable._ )” 

“Je ne peux pas croire que vous étiez dans l'armée. Elle est trop exquise, trop délicat, trop beau pour cette vie, ne pensez-vous pas, Prince? ( _I cannot believe you were in the army. She’s too exquisite, too delicate, too beautiful for such a life, don’t you think, Prince?_ )” The ambassador directed the last question at Sebastian.

His eyes went to Hawke. “Oui.” He admitted. “Oui, elle est vraiment ravissante. Mais c'est vrai. Demandez-lui de vous parler de la bataille de Ostagar. J'entends son récit est inoubliable. ( _Yes. Yes, she’s truly lovely. But it’s true. Ask her to tell you about the Battle of Ostagar. I’ve heard her recounting of it is unforgettable._ )” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he looked at her.

Saemus, who had been listening. burst out laughing. 

Hawke’s cheeks turned pink and she gave him an exasperated look. “I cannot believe you brought that up.” She said. “And you.” she warned Saemus. “Stop laughing.” She glanced down the table at her mother. Yes, there was the glare. She turned back to the ambassador. “Pardonnez-nous. Ces deux vilains garçons essaient de me mettre dans l'embarras en me rappelant des erreurs que j'ai faites. Ils ne sont pas très chevaleresque.” ( _Excuse us. These two naughty boys are trying to embarrass me by reminding me of mistakes I’ve made. They’re not very chivalrous._ )” she said, giving the two 'boys' in question a reproving glance.

“Vous devez venir à Orlais. Là, les hommes savent comment une belle femme doit être traitée.” ( _You should come to Orlais. There men know how a beautiful woman should be treated_ )

This only served to deepen the pink of Hawke’s cheeks. Luckily she was spared any further embarrassment by the Viscount rising to begin the speeches.

After what seemed like an interminable time, the speeches were over and the dancing began. Sebastian watched Hawke and Saemus. Hawke danced beautifully, her natural grace contributing to her skill on the dancefloor, and she had the ability to make even a puppy like Seamus look fluid. The two of them were laughing and talking animatedly while they danced, ignoring or unaware of the looks from other guests. 

“Sebastian.” The Viscount came to his side and looking at his son and Hawke.

“Marlowe.” He nodded his greeting, not taking his eyes from the couple. 

The Viscount watched him watching Hawke. “I see you’ve met young Serrah Hawke. What’s your opinion of her?” 

“I met her a few years ago actually. It was she who took care of Flint Company.” 

“No! She never mentioned that.” The Viscount’s eyes went back to Hawke. “Well, I suspect there are a lot of things she doesn’t mention. Very irregular background.” He watched her glide around the room with Saemus. “Remarkable girl, though. Told me off, you know.” 

Sebastian looked at him in surprise.

“Oh not tonight. Years ago. Helped out with some difficulty Saemus had gotten himself into. That business with the Qunari, you remember. Apparently she’s quite the master with daggers. Saemus said she cut through the Winters like it was nothing. I was reprimanding him for his foolishness and she told me quite bluntly I was the one being foolish and that I should stop talking so much and listen to him for a change. I thought Bran was going to have an apoplexy. That alone was worth it. And do you know, she was right. There aren’t many who would speak up to me like that. Elthina. Meredith.” He frowned at the name. “I’d love to see Hawke go up against Meredith. She’d tell her what for. Fearless, you know. Completely unimpressed by title or status.” They watched as Saemus mistepped in the dance and Hawke just spun in such a way that it was barely noticeable. “And now she’s helping me out again. An issue with the Qunari.” 

“You’re asking Hawke to help with the Qunari? That seems…” Insane. Risky. He tried to think of a way to put it that wouldn’t insult the Viscount. “She seems an odd choice.” He settled for that.

The Viscount snorted. “Wasn’t my choice, boy. The Arishok asked for her. By name.” 

Now that was surprising. Sebastian frowned. “How does the Arishok know Hawke?”

“How does anyone know her? I asked her the same thing. Know what she said? 'I can’t help it if I make an impression.' Ha!” the Viscount laughed out loud, and Sebastian smiled himself. 

“She does at that.” He watched her move around the room, this time with the Ambassador. Several of the other Kirkwall ladies looked quite affronted at his preferential treatment of her. 

“Don’t like the idea of sending a slip of a girl to deal with him but what can I do?” continued the Viscount. “I tried to get him to tell me what it was all about but no, he’ll only talk to her. She’s promised to meet with him. 'I’m always willing to help.' She said. Refreshing change from most of these leeches here.” He glanced at the crowd of Kirkwall’s elite in disdain, before his eyes fell on Hawke again. “Remarkable girl.”

Remarkable indeed, thought Sebastian. 

“It’s a shame. If it weren’t for her irregular background she’d make a fine wife for Saemus. You know about that of course. Her father was a mage. And of course the Amells have their own problems with magic. No. It couldn’t be risked. A shame. I’m sure some other man will be willing to overlook it. And of course that Deep Roads’ fortune will help.” He spotted Seneschal Bran trying to catch his attention. “Excuse me, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian frowned as the Viscount left his side. He hadn’t realized that her father’s magic was counted as such a black mark against her. He wasn’t certain he liked the idea of someone convinced to marry Hawke merely because of her fortune. _Be honest Vael. You don’t like the idea of anyone marrying her_. 

His plans to keep her by his side proved almost impossible to carry out as gentleman after gentleman claimed her as their partner. He was listening to Ruxton Harimann drone on about some obscure point of trade law, while watching Hawke dance with the Comte De Launcet, who was positively slobbering over her, looking at her in a way that was quite disturbing when you considered his former betrothal to her mother. Neither his wife nor Leandra Amell Hawke looked particularly happy at the sight. He turned away to answer one of Ruxton’s questions about Starkhaven import laws. 

When the dance had finished, Dulcie De Launcet swooped in and reclaimed her husband with a glare at Hawke. Hawke looked after her with a bewildered stare. What had she done to deserve that look?

“Lady Hawke.” She turned to find Brendan, Seneschal Bran’s son, approaching, a glass of champagne in each hand. “You’ve been a difficult woman to even get close to tonight. I’ve brought you some champagne to slake that thirst you must have worked up dancing with all those men.”

She took the glass. “That’s very kind of you, Brendan. But please, it’s just Hawke.” Lady Hawke indeed.

“I was going to ask you to dance myself, but upon further consideration I thought you might prefer some fresh air instead.” He gestured towards the open doors to the terrace.

She gave him a grateful smile. “That actually sounds quite wonderful.” She looked up at him. Immaculately put together, every hair in place, his goatee perfectly trimmed. His clothes were the richest fabric, the latest fashion. He was handsome enough, but it was all a little too perfectly packaged. He probably spent more time on his appearance than she did. Still, she supposed she could at least speak with him, if just to keep Leandra happy. And she could use the fresh air.

He smiled in response and taking her elbow led her outside. A few other couples had had the same idea she noticed as he led her to the far corner. Hawke took a sip of the ice cold champagne. “It’s wonderful. Thank you. It was just what I needed.”

“My dear Hawke.” He said in what she was sure he thought was a seductive voice. “It’s my pleasure to make sure that you always have what you need. Multiple partners can make you so thirsty.” His heavy lidded eyes gleamed knowingly as he stepped closer. 

He was a handsome man, until he spoke. She opened her mouth to retort and thought of what Leandra would do if she made a scene at the social event of the season. _Ignore it_ , she told herself. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“I’m enjoying it much more now that I’ve got a chance at you.” He moved closer and she backed up a step. “I want to dance with you Hawke. But something slow that will give me a chance to hold you close and put my hands on that delectable little body.” He took another step forwards and she automatically retreated and her back hit the stone railing of the terrace. She looked around and discovered the others who had been there must have gone back inside. Turning back she found Brendan staring unabashedly down the front of her dress. 

Her nostrils flared in annoyance. “Did you lose something down there, Brendan?”

He looked up at her with a smirk. “Oh I’d like to.” He reached over and trailed a finger from her collar bone down to the edge of her neckline. 

She knocked his hand out of the way. “Don’t you ever touch me.” Any of her companions would have recognized the deadly glint in her eye. Brendan did not. 

“You don’t need to act so properly outraged Hawke. All that time in Lowtown and with the Red Iron. There’s no need to play the blushing virgin.” She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off. “It doesn’t matter to me in the slightest, not with that delicious body and all that delicious gold you brought back from the Deep Roads. I know what your mother’s been scheming about. I’m not averse to the idea. And you won’t do better than me, you know.”

 _The arrogant little…_

Screw not making a scene. “Brendan,” she said coldly. “A drunken Rivaini sailor I picked up off the floor of the Hanged Man would be better than you.”

Anger flared in Brendon’s eyes. “Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” He said nastily, before he gave a very unmasculine yelp as someone grabbed him by the neck of his doublet, lifting him high enough that his toes barely touched the the marble tiles of the terrace. He found himself looking into fiery blue eyes. 

“Apologize.” Said Sebastian through gritted teeth. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He’d looked away from her for just a minute and when he’d looked back she was disappearing through the terrace doors with Brendan, of all people. He’d abandoned Ruxton quite rudely and followed them out to the terrace, just in time to overhear Brendan’s insults. He shook the man, and not gently. “Apologize!” he repeated.

“I’m sorry.” Brendan managed to squeak out. Sebastian abruptly let go of him, and he fell to the ground. He looked up at the man who had been his confessor since before he was a teenager, stunned. He had never even heard Brother Sebastian raise his voice.

“I expect to see you at the Chantry first thing tomorrow morning. We will be discussing this, and there will be a lengthy penance involved.” Sebastian said his mouth a grim line.

Brendan pushed himself to his feet, scowling and wiping dust from his clothes.

Sebastian turned to Hawke. “Are you all right?”

She was staring at him in surprise. “I’m fine.” 

“He didn’t harm you?” 

“No.” She said with a small smile. “I’m fine. Truly.” 

He smiled briefly at her before turning back to Brendan. “The evening is over for you, Brendan. Go home.” He said, his voice brooking no argument.

“I’d be doing her a favor by marrying her. She’s nothing.” Brendan insisted. 

Hawke hands flexed open and then closed. She really wanted to hit the little shit. _Go on,_ she thought. _Just give me one more reason._

“She might look like a lady dressed up like that, but she’s nothing more than a Lowtown slut who’s good with a dagger.” Brendan whined. 

And then he dropped like a stone, as a fist connected with his jaw.

Hawke’s mouth fell open as she looked from Brendan’s prone form to Sebastian standing over him, his hand still clenched into a fist. 

“I’m sorry, Hawke.” said Sebastian looking down at Brendan. He’d just struck a man for the first time in twelve years. Surely he should be more disturbed by that. He thought about what Brendan had just said, how he'd dared to put his hand on her. No. He wasn’t disturbed at all.

“You’re sorry? What for? In another minute I would have punched him myself. He’s just lucky I didn’t have easy access to my dagger.”

“You’re armed?” he asked, surprised.

“Always.” She said absently walking over to Brendan.

Sebastian looked at her suddenly realizing that the only place she could be concealing a weapon in that dress was very probably strapped to her leg. An unbelievably erotic image of that pale skin with a dark leather sheath wrapped around it flashed through his mind and he actually blushed. 

Hawke didn’t notice as she nudged Brendan with her foot. He was out cold. She looked back up at Sebastian. “How do you do that? I can never seem to knock people out when I punch them.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I suspect it has to do with the size of your hands.” 

Hawke looked down at her small hands and then at Sebastian’s much larger ones. “That would make sense.” She looked back at Brendan’s inert form. “Bran’s going to be furious.” Hawke commented.

“Not at all.” Sebastian said smoothly. He bent down and pulled Brendan over, propping him up against the stone railing of the terrace. 

“Now what?” asked Hawke. 

He smiled down at her. “I thought we might dance.” It seemed to be an evening for doing things he hadn’t done since joining the Chantry.

She looked up at him with a breathtaking smile. “I’d love to.”

 

Sebastian paused briefly as they reentered the ballroom, beckoning a servant over and speaking softly at his ear. The servant nodded and quickly left the room and Sebastian led Hawke onto the dance floor.

“What did you say to him?” she asked.

“I simply told him the Seneschal’s son was out on the terrace somewhat the worse for wine, and should be removed before it caused a scandal. They’ll take care of him.”

The music started up again, a slow sweet waltz. Without another word Sebastian took her hand in his, sliding his other hand around her waist. She reached up and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. He began to guide her, and soon they were moving across the floor with the other couples.

He glanced down to find her watching him, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Is something wrong?” He asked curiously.

“I’ve never had someone defend my honor before.” She said simply. “I rather liked it.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “No? None of your companions?”

“Oh, they’ve defended my life on many occasions. But you’re the first to defend my honor. Thank you for that.” She had an almost shy smile on her face.

“He had no right to speak to you that way.”

“Well, he’s definitely off the list of potential husbands.” She looked up at him and shook her head slightly. “This evening's turned out to be very different from what I expected.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” He looked down at her thinking about the events of tonight. “You’re a fraud, you know.” 

She looked at him, startled at his words, but he was smiling. “You moaned and complained, made all these claims about not knowing how to behave and yet you’ve charmed most of the men here tonight. Including the Orlesian ambassador.”

“But he was easy to talk to. I don’t know why people said he was so haughty. His Common isn’t very good, that’s all.”

“I hear stories of all the good you’re doing, you know.” 

She looked surprised. “Really? That's strange.” 

“Did you think no one noticed?” She truly didn’t realize what an impression she was making on Kirkwall, and what an effect she was having on the city.

“I suppose I never thought about it.” Part of her still felt odd not hiding her actions. Still she’d done nothing she was ashamed of, and quite a few things she was proud of. 

“And the Viscount tells me he’s enlisted your aid in dealing with the Qunari as well. You’ve turned out to be quite the diplomat.” 

She snorted. “A strange sort of diplomacy. I just stumble upon things and bash about until it seems right.”

“It may not be what the royal courts of Thedas would call diplomacy, but you study a situation, and more importantly find other remedies than just violence. Let’s call it Hawke diplomacy.” 

Her eyes twinkled. “Hawke diplomacy. I like it.” She said, before looking a bit worried. “You do realize I’m not any sort of paragon of perfect behavior? I do stab things quite a lot, you know.”

“I’ve heard that as well. But as a last resort, rather than the first.” 

They moved easily together, Hawke effortlessly following his lead. “You weren’t lying. You are a good dancer.”

He’d been about to say the same. “I haven’t danced in years. I must say I’ve missed it.” They moved well together, in spite of the difference in size, and he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. Probably too much. They danced without speaking for a few moments.

“It feels good to be a part of things. I was never able to do that growing up.” She suddenly said.

As Sebastian had suspected, ambition had nothing to do with her actions. His admiration for her grew as her own words confirmed it. She really was one of the most remarkable people he’d ever met. “I felt the same way when I joined the Chantry. Well perhaps not at first but slowly. I realized what it felt like to have a cause, a reason for your actions. To be part of something bigger than yourself.”

Her face lit up. “Yes! That’s it exactly. To feel like you’re contributing to something larger. To have a place.”

They looked at one another smiling at the recognition of a similar purpose. 

_Maker, she was beautiful,_ he thought looking down at her. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed from the dancing. He suddenly heard himself saying, “If you ever have need of assistance in any of these tasks you undertake, I’d be more than happy to accompany you.”

She laughed. “Careful, Sebastian. I may take you up on that offer.” She flushed when she realized she’d called him by his first name. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be overly familiar. Is it Prince Sebastian or Brother Sebastian these days?” 

“Just Sebastian, please.” He looked down at her. “Does everyone still call you Hawke?”

“Oh, yes.” She shrugged. “I can’t really blame them. You’d hardly ask an Anabel to fight mercenaries and slay dragons and such.”

“Are you never just Anabel?” He asked. That seemed a little sad.

“Rarely. When I’m in trouble with Mother, of course. When I’m alone in my room, curled up with a good book.” She gave him a mischievous look. “When I’m in a ball gown dancing with a prince.” 

“It’s a lovely name. It suits you.” Was he flirting, he wondered. If he had to ask he probably wasn’t doing it very well.

She flushed pink. “Thank you.” For the first time at one of these parties, she found herself wishing that the evening wouldn’t end. That she would be able to keep spending time with Sebastian. Before her brain had time to stop her she found herself saying. “I don’t suppose…Would you... No. Never mind.” 

“Would I what?” he asked curious as to what she was going to say.

“I’m sneaking to meet my friends at the Hanged Man after this. Would you like to come along? It’s all right if you can’t. Or don’t want to.” Of course he wouldn’t want to come. What had possessed her to make the invitation?

He looked down at her for a moment, considering. Somehow this felt like more of a turning point than attending the ball as a noble. Elthina had said to stay out as late as he wished. And told him to enjoy himself. It broke no vow to accompany Hawke to a tavern. But more than that, he simply didn’t want to leave her company just yet. She was looking up at him uncertainly, obviously regretting having issued the invitation.

His eyes were reassuring as he looked down at her. “I’d very much like to meet your friends, Anabel.” He said, deliberately using her first name. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. 

 

It was later than they had intended when they finally made it to the Hanged Man. Sebastian looked around the bar of the notorious tavern. It was filthy, run down, and Anabel had been right about about the smell. But there was something. An energy to the place that kept him from simply walking out. 

Anabel waved to someone at a table near the bar, and crossed the room to join them. A barely clothed voluptuous dark-haired woman. Rivaini, if he had to guess. Beautiful in a lush overblown way, but not a beauty that tempted him. His eyes went back to Anabel. 

Isabela’s eyebrows arched as she noticed Hawke’s companion. “Well, well, Hawke. And what do we have here?”

Hawke grinned at her. “I won him at the Viscount’s party. He was the door prize. Sebastian Vael, this is Captain Isabela. She’s a pirate. Watch your purse. And your virtue.” 

Isabela’s eyes hadn’t left Sebastian. “Lucky you, Hawke. I never get invited to the nice parties. Well, aren’t you just yummy.” She said, sliding over to Sebastian’s side. “Where have you been hiding, Sebastian?” She said trailing a hand over the back of his neck and pressing her breasts up against his side.

“The Chantry, usually.” Said Sebastian with a charming smile. 

Confusion clouded Isabela’s features. She looked at Hawke for clarification.

“He’s a Chantry brother, Bela.” Anabel said with a mischievous grin.

Isabela’s hands immediately dropped from around Sebastian’s neck. “Oh that’s just wrong.” She said, outraged at the idea. 

“Slumming, Hawke?" Asked Varric as he slid into a chair at the table.

“Restoring my sanity, more like. Deal me in. Sebastian too. This is Sebastian Vael. Sebastian this is Varric Tethras, my partner in crime, and otherwise.” 

Varric nodded at Sebastian. “Prince.” 

“Who’s a prince?” Asked Isabela, confused. “I thought he was a priest.”

“He’s both Bela.” She shrugged off her cloak throwing it over the back of a chair.

“How enterprising of him.” Commented Isabela. She glanced at Hawke and was immediately distracted. “Oh, kitten, look at you. What a nice shape you have when it’s not all covered up in armor.” She ran her hands over Hawke in an unabashedly sexual way. Hawke just brushed them away like one would with a child reaching for an undeserved sweet. 

“Hands off the boobs, Izzy. We’ve talked about this.” She said not even looking up from her cards. 

“But they’re so luscious and pert, Hawke.” said Isabela, undeterred. “How do any of us resist fondling them?” 

“I think the threat of a dagger through the heart if we did is probably what discourages most of us, Rivaini.” Said Varric. 

"You shouldn’t be afraid to live dangerously Varric. Some things are worth a stab wound.” She turned to Sebastian. “Don’t you think they’re worth a stab wound, Brother Sebastian?” It took all of Sebastian’s willpower to smile serenely at the pirate and not to look at Hawke’s breasts. Not that he needed to look in order to answer the question.

“Behave Izzy. I’m sorry Sebastian.” Hawke said with an apologetic glance at him. “We’re trying to housebreak her but it’s not taking. Sit, please. I promise she won’t bite.” She said, glancing at Isabela who had moved back to Sebastian’s side. “If she knows what’s good for her.” She added in warning. 

Isabela just smiled lazily at her and turned back to Sebasitan, running a finger down his arm. “So do you play cards Brother Sebastian?” She asked putting extra emphasis on ‘Brother’. “Or is that another pleasure the Chantry expects you to do without?” 

Sebastian just moved away from her and started to sit down but stumbled over what appeared to be twine wrapped around the table leg, connecting it to one of the pillars. 

“Sorry, Choir Boy,” said Varric. He reached down and cut the string. 

Choir Boy? 

“Was Merrill here?” asked Hawke. “A friend of ours. She’s Dalish. Gets lost in cities.” As if that somehow explained the string.

“You just missed her. Fenris walked her home. Wouldn’t let her bring the twine. We’ll probably find her in the Viscount’s gardens again come morning.” Varric gave a low chuckle at the thought.

“I still don’t understand how she ended up in a cupboard in the barracks that time. No, Isabela, I am not letting you deal. Not the first time you play cards with Sebastian. He’ll never come back.” She handed the cards to Varric, before turning and looking over her shoulder at the bartender. “Corf, my darling, I have no alcohol. Surely you won’t let that sad state of affairs continue? And I want the good stuff, not that swill Isabela drinks.” She added, ignoring the pirate’s outraged ‘hey!” 

“Keep your pants on, Hawke.” Grumbled the man behind the bar. 

Anabel turned back to Sebastian. “Whiskey’s all right with you, Sebastian? Or would you prefer ale? Maker – do priests even drink at all?” She suddenly looked worried.

Sebastian gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m from Starkhaven, Anabel. I was drinking whiskey when you were just a gleam in your father’s eye. Whiskey is just fine.” He heard her dwarven partner give a grunt of surprised laughter.

He leaned back and picked up his cards, feeling at home in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

  


Anabel woke the next morning to Bodahn’s soft knock on her bedroom door. She groaned. Too early. It had been almost light when Sebastian had walked her back to her house. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her face as she thought of the previous evening.

“What is it Bodahn?” She knew he wouldn’t disturb her without good cause. She’d been so surprised when he’d turned up on her doorstep during the renovations of the Amell mansion. Turned up and all but refused to leave, insisting he owed for saving his son. He kept her somewhat peculiar household running smoothly, and never blinked an eye at her behavior, her odd friends, or Leandra’s pompous snobbery. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

“I’m sorry messere. But there’s a visitor downstairs who asked that I bring you this. He was very insistent.”

“Come in then.” She pushed herself to an upright position, yawning as she did so.

The dwarf walked over and handed her a small jar. 

She turned it over curiously. Marmalade. A small smile curved her lips. “Anders?”

“Yes, messere. I had him wait in the library.”

She slid out of bed and grabbed a robe, sliding into it and belting it before picking up the jar again. 

Anders was pacing in front of the fireplace when she walked in. 

“Marmalade?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smiled tentatively. “I have a friend who gives jam as a gift when she’s been fighting with people. It sounds strange but it always seems to work.”

“We weren’t fighting exactly, were we?” She asked him, still not smiling.

“I think it was more I was being an ass.” The whole time he’d been leading those mages out through the tunnels underneath the Gallows he’d been regretting what had passed between them. 

“Hmmm.” The sound might have meant anything. She looked down at the jar in her hand. “I hate marmalade, you know.” She said, but when she looked up she was smiling at him.

“Do you?” he asked, hoping the smile meant he was forgiven.

“Yes. I loathe the stuff. You know what that means?” she cocked her head to one side as she looked at him.

“Not really.” 

“It means you’d better stay for breakfast and finish it off.” 

The smile was now what he was sure was an idiotic grin. “You’re not cooking right?” 

She gave him a withering look. “Please. I’m not that mad at you.” She moved past him to ask Bodahn to bring up some breakfast, but Anders hand on her arm stopped her.

“I trust you with my life, Hawke.” He said, his eyes intense as he looked down at her. “But more than that. If anything goes wrong. With Justice. You’re the only one I trust to do what’s necessary.” He didn’t say the words out loud, but they hung there all the same.

 _I trust you with my death._

Hawke shivered suddenly. “It’s entirely too early for this conversation.” She said looking away, her voice suddenly shaky, though she’d tried to keep it light. “You have to at least let me have some coffee before you dump this sort of stuff on me.” Her eyes pleaded with him not to pursue the topic.

He squeezed her arm lightly, before he let her go. “You do know it’s past noon, right? It must have been quite a party.” He commented watching her.

“It was.” Her eyes were huge in her face, and she still didn’t smile. She suddenly flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. His arms tightened around her. 

“I hate it when you do that.” She said, her voice muffled by his coat. “I hate it when you go all doom and gloom on me. It would serve you right if I did cook you breakfast.” 

He ran his hand over her curls. “It’s probably no less than I deserve.” He said soothingly. She pulled back to look at him and he reached up a hand and wiped one escaped tear from her cheek. They both turned as Bodahn walked in carrying breakfast on a tray. 

Hawke pulled herself free. “Well, fortunately for you, Bodahn anticipates my every request. So instead you’ll have to hear all about the party in excruciating detail, including what everyone was wearing. Everyone. So you’d better make yourself comfortable, because there were a lot of people there.” 

He smiled in relief, knowing he’d been forgiven. “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any translation issues with the Orlesian in Hawke's conversation with the Orlesian ambassador is of course due to the differences between Thedasian Orlesian, and our own French language. It has nothing to do with the use of google translate and my own flawed memories of 8th grade French. Really.


	4. A Courtesy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Viscount's behest, Hawke visits the Arishok, and invites Sebastian to accompany her.

Sebastian received a haphazardly scrawled note early in the morning two days later. He couldn’t help smiling as he read it: 

_Dear Sebastian._

_You mentioned the other night that if I needed you for one of these situations I seem to get myself into you’d be willing. If you weren’t just being polite, and if you’re not too busy this afternoon, and if after experiencing only two of my mad gang of friends you aren’t wanting to run screaming back to the Chantry, I do have need of your services._

_You see how many opportunities I’m offering you to back out?_

_It shouldn’t be too bad (famous last words), just a lesson in Hawke diplomacy, as you put it, if all goes to plan. If you’re brave enough or daft enough that you still genuinely want to join us, we’re meeting at the Hanged Man around midday. Just ask Corf where Varric’s rooms are (he’s the morose one behind the bar, remember? Corf that is. Not Varric. Varric’s almost never morose.)._

_Yours, Anabel._

_Post Script: You should probably throw on that shiny white armor of yours. Armor tends to come in handy when you bash about with me._

_Post Script the Second: And if you still have a bow, bring that as well._

_Post Script the Third: Arrows. Arrows would be good._

_Post Script the Fourth: After reading this, why on Thedas would you still want to come along? Use some of the sense the Maker gave you, young man, stay home and work in the garden. Read a book. Organize your closet. For Andraste’s sake, don’t get involved with this lunatic woman._

_Post Script the Fifth: I really would like it if you did come._

And how could he resist that? 

 

The noon service had never seemed so long. He all but threw on his armor, grabbed his weapons and rushed down to Lowtown as quickly as he could. He entered the Hanged Man and was somewhat surprised at the size of the lunchtime crowd. The tavern itself didn’t look any better in daylight. He crossed to the bar, and had no trouble identifying Corf from Hawke’s description. “I’m supposed to meet Hawke in Varric’s rooms?” 

Corf barely looked up as he grunted. “Top of the stairs. Follow the noise. They’re all up there.” As Sebastian reached the stairs he could hear Hawke’s voice.

“Ow.” 

“Hold still.” A man’s voice answered calmly.

“It hurts.” She seemed to be complaining and laughing all at the same time. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s why we’re healing you, remember?” The man was laughing now as well.

Had she been injured? It couldn’t be too bad is she was laughing. But he increased his pace all the same.

There was another exchange, low enough that he couldn’t hear what was being said, but she suddenly let out a yelp. “Fuck, your hands are cold, Anders! Remind me to give you gloves next solstice.”

“Well, next time, try not to get stabbed and you won’t have to worry about the temperature of my hands.” Said the man in an exasperated tone. 

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘stabbed’, and he ran up the last few steps taking them two at a time. The door was wide open, so he simply walked in and then came to an abrupt stop. Hawke was sitting on a large table in the center of the room, her back to the door, her shirt off. For one heart stopping moment he thought she was nude from the waist up and then he realized she wore a breastband of such a soft light pink that it almost blended into her pale skin. Her hair was twisted up and skewered on her head with what appeared to be a pencil, leaving the long line of her neck and the whole of her back exposed. 

When he’d traveled to Orlais with Elthina they’d been given a tour of Empress Celine’s statue garden. Some of the Kirkwall clergy had been shocked by the marble statues, many of which depicted scantily clothed or utterly nude men and women. Sebastian had found them beautiful. There was one in particular, of a young woman seated by a fountain, nude to the waist, trailing one hand in the water of the fountain that he’d found especially striking. It wasn’t a showy piece, but the skill with which the piece had been sculpted, the perfect beauty of the form depicted, had caused him linger at it, even as the rest of the group had moved on. 

Anabel Hawke put the piece to shame. 

He barely had time to notice the two parallel gashes on her shoulder when a tall somewhat shabbily dressed man moved behind her, blocking his view. He placed his hands firmly on her bare back and Sebastian was entirely unprepared for the rush of possessiveness that hit him at the sight. Gentle blue light began to pulse gently from the man’s hands and he realized this must be the Grey Warden healer that Hawke had mentioned. He’s just healing her, he told himself. He had to touch her to heal her. 

When Hawke had said a Grey Warden Sebastian had pictured some grizzled war veteran. This man was much younger than Sebastian had thought he would be, probably close to his own age. And with his golden hair and finely sculpted features most would consider him handsome if you liked the scruffy, unwashed, disreputable look. 

Was he actually jealous of the man?

No.

Perhaps, he reluctantly admitted. He noted with some satisfaction that as tall as this Grey Warden was, he topped him by a good three inches.

“Well how was I supposed to know he’d go for sweet little me? Usually they go for the glowering ones with the big swords and shields.” Anabel was saying defensively, looking pointedly at the white haired elf.

The elf just raised his eyes and commented, “Perhaps if you had not killed three of his companions he would not have come after you.”

Whatever response she made caused him to smile briefly. 

She suddenly leaned forward to pick up a book that was lying on the table near her. The blue light faded abruptly.

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke, will you stop moving?” 

He didn’t like this man. And it had nothing to do with the fact that his hands were firmly placed on Anabel’s bare skin, Sebastian told himself. She’d immediately frozen at the man’s words, and he had only just resumed his healing, when she reached forward again to put the book back and the glow stopped again.

“Hold still!” the man ordered. “You’re worse than the children in my clinic.”

Sebastian involuntarily gritted his teeth as the man wrapped one arm securely around her, his hand ending up resting on her chest just above her breasts, so she was held firmly in place. The man’s eyes closed and the soft blue glow flared again. Sebastian frowned at the expression on the man’s face. He seemed to be enjoying it too much, Sebastian thought and immediately dismissed the thought as petty, coming from his apparently undeniable jealousy. 

After a few moments the man stepped slowly back and admired his handiwork, running his hand one last time over Anabel’s back. “There, that should do it.”

Anabel slid off the table and swung her arm around in a large circle. “Perfect.” She said with a smile. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead. “You are a darling.” 

She turned, and that pale pink breastband that had looked so innocent from the back turned out to be trimmed with a sheer black lace. The contrast between the black of the lace and the whiteness of her skin was stunning. Sebastian swallowed hard, wondering how a garment could look both so innocent and utterly sensual at the same time. Or perhaps it was the woman who wore it, he realized.

The mage, Anders, just grunted in response. “Try to avoid the knives next time.” He advised, sounding completely unconcerned, but from the way his eyes followed Hawke as she walked past him to pick up her shirt, he wasn’t as unaffected by her as his tone indicated. Anabel seemed completely unaware.

“Mother’s going to have a fit about this shirt. Anders, why isn’t there a spell that can mend shirts and armor? It would save me a fortune.“ She said, holding up a blood stained shirt with twin gashes at the shoulder. Sebastian stared at the holes, horrified by the damage, and by the amount of blood on the garment. Anabel’s face suddenly lit up as she glimpsed him through the tear.

“Sebastian.” She cried with pleasure, her face lighting up. She tossed the shirt on the table and ran up to him, apparently oblivious to, or unconcerned about her state of undress, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.” She said breathlessly. 

He couldn’t help smiling back at her. “A lady asks for my aid, where else would I be?” 

“Always the perfect gentleman.” She commented unaware of the scowl the words produced on Anders’ face. 

“Are you all right? Were you badly injured?” 

”That?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I just got stabbed a little. Anders took care of it. See?” She turned to show off her back which was, he was forced admit, flawless. He had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it, to see if the skin was as soft as it appeared to be. Before he could act (or not act) on the impulse, she’d whirled around to face him again.

“We’re going to see the Arishok. Want to come along?” 

As if they were going to a picnic. 

Before he could answer, she’d turned away again and grabbed one of her boots, bending over, and shoving a foot into it. She teetered as she did so and his hands automatically reached out to catch her, landing on the bare skin just above her hips. Oh, yes. Definitely as soft as it appeared. Her skin was warm to the touch and he couldn’t help noticing the contrast between the whiteness of her skin and the tan of his hands, how small her waist was and how absolutely perfect it felt to be touching her like this. His hands tightened almost involuntarily on her hips as an image flashed in his mind. _His hands on her hips. Pulling her back against him. Pulling her back on him. Her head arching back as he thrust..._

“Whoops.” She laughed as she straightened, continuing to speak as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “The Viscount asked me to speak to him. Well, to be precise the Arishok asked the Viscount to ask me to me to come and speak to him. People are so indirect in this town.” She bent down to look under the table and the waistband of her trousers slipped down showing two small indentations at the base of her spine, on either side, just above her buttocks. His thumbs would just fit into those indentations.

“Any idea why the Arishok would ask for you, specifically?” He asked when he had found his voice again, making a valiant attempt to distract himself from his entirely inappropriate thoughts.

“None at all. Isn’t it marvelous?” She straightened up, looking delighted. “I love surprises. We’ve met a few times before, but that was years ago. Why he felt I was the one to talk to instead of the Viscount I have no idea. Obviously he isn’t getting the memos as to who the really important people are in Kirkwall. Varric, where’s my other boot?”

Before Varric could answer, she was on her hands and knees looking under the table, giving him a perfect view of her backside. She didn’t bother to wait for a reply but got to her feet and turned to Sebastian “Have you met him?” she said as if the Arishok would have shown up for tea or morning service at the Chantry.

“The Arishok? No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” Following her train of thought was like trying to catch a butterfly. The other three seem accustomed to the way her thoughts flitted about, barely paying it any attention. 

“He’s interesting fellow. Cranky as all get out, but there you go. Of course he has been living in a broken down building in the Docks for three years. It must get frightfully dull.” She found her other boot, crawling halfway underneath the bed to retrieve it and pushed her other foot into it. Grabbing the shirt, she tried to put it on but accidentally slipped an arm into one of the knife holes instead of the sleeve, and the fabric tore even more. She looked at it with an annoyed expression on her face. “Well that’s not going to work, is it? I’m going to borrow something from Isabela.” She handed Sebastian the shirt and was gone from the room almost before he had processed what she’d said. He was left with the three men. 

The mage looked hostile, the elf merely suspicious, and the dwarf seemed strangely delighted. He quickly put the shirt down on the table and held out his hand to Varric. 

“It’s good to see you again, Varric.” 

Varric shook his hand. “Prince. You’ll have to give me a chance to win back some of those sovereigns one day.”

“Sadly, they’ve already been given to the orphanage in Lowtown.” He’d been a little embarrassed that he’d won more games than he lost the other night. Apparently card playing was one of those skills that didn’t simply disappear through lack of use. Sister Magret at the orphanage had been thrilled by the anonymous donation.

Varric shot him a disapproving look, but continued on. “You don’t know the rest of the gang, do you? The broody elf in the corner is Fenris.”

“I don’t brood.” Said the elf, sullenly, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement. 

“Sure you don’t. And this useful fellow is Anders.” Blue eyes met brown, each man assessing the other. Mutual dislike crackled between them.

“It’s good to meet you.” said Sebastian, determined to be pleasant. “You run the clinic in Darktown, don’t you? Lirene speaks highly of you.” 

Anders just grunted, looking at him suspiciously. 

“So Hawke’s invited you to join our merry band.” Varric commented. “You’re in for a treat. Seeing Hawke talk with the Arishok is a little like watching a kitten tease a very cranky bear.” 

“I admit I’m a little wary of why the Arishok would be so interested in her.” 

“Oh, Hawke enchants us all in her way. Even the Arishok.” Varric seemed unconcerned.

“How did they even meet?” Sebastian asked.

“A job from a dwarven merchant named Javaris trying to do business with the Qunari, but they really didn’t become friendly until we had a little encounter with one of your lot.”

“One of my lot?”

“A Chantry sister by the name of Petrice. Wanted us to take a Qunari mage out of the city for her.”

A warning sounded in Sebastian’s head. “Mother Petrice?” he asked. Petrice and her Qunari fixation. What was she up to now?

“Mother Petrice?” Varric laughed out loud. “Ancestors, don’t tell Hawke the bitch has been promoted. She’ll have a fit. Anyway, the whole episode brought up some questions in Hawke’s mind about the Qunari, and magic, and what Petrice might be up to, and she decided to get some answers.” He looked at Sebastian as if this explained everything. “Well if you wanted information about Qunari customs and you were Hawke who would you ask?”

“She didn’t.” Surely not even Hawke would be so bold.

“Oh yes. Walked right up to the Qunari compound and demanded to speak to the Arishok.” Varric chuckled at the memory. “Told him to his face she’d had to kill some of his men. I thought for sure we’d end up a Qunari kabob when she did that. But he just told her not to do it again. Tried to dismiss her, but she just kept asking her questions.“

Surely the dwarf is exaggerating. But the others don’t deny the story. Sebastian can’t decide if Anabel Hawke is fearless or insane. Or both. He shook his head in disbelief. “She doesn’t fear to speak her mind, does she?” 

Varric just laughed. “No, that’s never been an issue for Hawke.” 

Fenris spoke up suddenly. “Hawke is without artifice. The Qunari appreciate that.” 

“Being the only one without artifice in a city of liars and thieves isn’t a recipe for safety.” Commented Anders, idly touching Hawke’s bloodstained shirt.

“That’s why she’s got us, Blondie.” Sebastian looked at the three men, so very different and each so obviously devoted to Hawke.

A rather awkward silence fell as they waited for her to return.

Sebastian had to ask. “Is it safe for her to be walking around this uh, establishment like that?”

Varric seemed unconcerned. “Not to worry Choir Boy. All the regulars know that if they try anything they’ll probably walk away missing an extremity.” 

The woman in question all but bounced back into the room half in and half out of a rather startling red shirt. “Isabela’s got two sailors in bed with her. How does that even work?” 

Sebastian immediately pictured himself and Hawke and some nameless other male tangled up in a bed together, Hawke’s naked body pressed between the two of them. Maker, what was wrong with him? He glanced up to see Anders staring at him, almost as if he knew what he were thinking. He looked away, hoping the guilt didn’t show on his face. He hadn’t seen a partially unclothed woman in over a decade. Perhaps that’s all it was. When Hawke was fully clothed again these thoughts would stop, no doubt.

She was still chattering away. “Sorry I took so long. Isabela’s wardrobe can be a little inappropriate. It takes some exploring to find something in the slightest bit suitable. You should really let me keep some clothes here, Varric.” She said to the dwarf, slipping her head through the shirt.

Varric snorted. “It’s not enough I occasionally share the bed with you? You want a drawer too?” 

He doesn’t mean? No. Sebastian immediately dismissed the thought from his head.

“You’re the one who won’t let me walk back to Hightown on my own at night. At least I don’t steal the covers, or snore, unlike some people I could name.” A frown grew on her face as she realized the low neckline exposed most of her breasts. “Well that’s not going to work.” 

“You could leave it like that, Hawke. You might distract the Arishok.” Joked Varric. 

Hawke ignored him, and pulled out the cord lacing the shirt up the front, crossing one side the shirt over the other around her back and to the front again before tying the tails together. “Well? Does it work?” She directed this to Sebastian. The result was form fitting and, Sebastian had to admit, rather elegant in an offbeat way. 

“It does” He said. “You look lovely, Anabel.” She gave him a brilliant smile before turning to the mage.

“Not too ragamuffin, Anders?” She asked with a twinkle in her eyes. A private joke?

“Maker, you will never let me forget that.” Anders looked exasperated and then his face softened as she twirled for his benefit. “You know you’re gorgeous, Hawke.”

“Well, it’s always nice to hear.” She glanced at Fenris. “I’m not even going to ask you.” 

“The Arishok is unconcerned with your appearance, Hawke.” 

“No doubt. I could dance up to him naked and he would just reprimand me for failing to be properly armed in this “cesspool of a city’.” She pulled what was indeed a pencil out of her hair and it tumbled down, nearly to her waist. She quickly gathered it together and tied it back using the discarded cord from the shirt. She grabbed her leather jerkin off the table and shrugged into it, and looked at them expectantly. “Well, come on. What are we waiting for?”

 

They walked down to the Docks, and as they turned into the Qunari compound one of the giants stepped in front of them. Sebastian tensed, and felt the others do the same. Hawke just looked the him up and down.

“Something I can help you with, big fella?” 

The Qunari frowned, apparently as perplexed by the response as Sebastian was. “You are Hawke.” 

“That’s right.”

“A patrol has gone missing on the Wounded Coast. You have fought Qunari before and triumphed. _Arvaarad_ no less. Did you kill them?”

“Well that’s shockingly abrupt. You know women usually prefer it if you work slowly up to the big questions.”

The Qunari just frowned at her.

Hawke sighed. “I can’t be your only suspect. There’s Carta, Coterie, Templars. Take your pick.”

The Qunari snorted. “You think the _bas_ of this city could fell a _karataam_? You however are another matter. If you are not responsible then I waste my time.” He turned and walked away.

Hawke shook her head. “You take out one little karataam, and you become their first suspect every time something happens to a Qunari. It hardly seems fair.”

“They praise your skill with the assumption.” Fenris pointed out.

“I know they think so. I’m never going to fully understand the Qunari.” Hawke said, shaking her head. 

Sebastian wondered at the way the horned giant had just come up and asked Hawke if she were responsible. “Would you have told him if you had killed them?” He asked her. 

She looked surprised by the question. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

Varric laughed at the expression on his face.

“They know I wouldn’t do it without a reason." She explained. "I know I wouldn’t do it without a good reason. There’s no benefit to lying about it. And no need to maintain a discreet silence. That’s one thing I do like about the Qunari. There’s very little need for bullshitting. Come. Mustn’t keep the Arishok waiting.”

Sebastian looked around with interest as they entered the compound. He had never been inside it, of course, never even knew anyone who had, but Hawke strolled in as casually as if she were walking into the Hightown market. She came to a halt at the foot of a staircase. At the top was an imposing wooden throne. Catching Sebastian’s eye she beckoned him over. “The Arishok loves making an entrance. And he’s quite good at it. You might want to take notes, in case you do decide to take back your throne.” She said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Before he could ask her what she meant, the guards on the dais move aside and another Qunari moved into view. 

Larger, more powerful, wearing huge red leather pauldroms, magnificently horned, the horns decorated with bands of gold. He wore more gold, on his ears, around his neck. It must be ceremonial. The Qunari didn’t strike Sebastian as wearing jewelry for purely aesthetic reasons. 

The Arishok looked down at them, expressionless, exuding unquestioned authority. 

He took them all in, his eyes halting when he came to Hawke. “Serrah Hawke.” He growled in a deeply powerful voice.

Hawke might have been acknowledging an acquaintance at a dinner part. She simply inclined her head. “Messere.” Her tone was polite, but not servile.

The Arishok looked her over carefully, noting the changes in her appearance since they had last seen each other. “When we first met I did not know your name. Did not care to. And yet over the years I have continued to hear of you. Your fortunes have changed. The Qunari’s have not.”

“It wasn’t without a price.” Hawke said, thinking of Carver. “One I’m not sure I would pay again, were I given the choice.”

The Arishok frowned slightly, as if the statement were irrelevant, continuing as if she had not spoken. “I offer a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he believes to be the formula for _gaatlock_. You will want to hunt him.” He instructed.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Someone stole your black powder from you? Excuse me, but this sounds like quite the feat.” She said, giving him a dubious look.

The Arishok smiled, seeming pleased at her response. “It was…allowed.” He admitted.

Hawke looked unsurprised.

“The stolen formula was a decoy. _Saar-qamek_. A poison gas. A small amount is dangerous enough, but if made in quantity, by someone intending to sell it.” His voice trailed off and he looked at Hawke expectantly.

She didn’t disappoint. “That merchant? What was his name? Javaris?” 

Again, the Arishok seemed pleased. “Would he be cautious? Or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?”

Hawke’s expletive gave him the answer he expected. “A courtesy, Hawke. You will want to hunt him.” He advised. He turned away, an obvious dismissal. Hawke ignored it.

“Just how dangerous is this gas? This Saqarmek?” she asked.

He glanced over at her. “ _Saar-qamek_.” He corrected. 

“ _Saar-qamek_.” She repeated, looking at him expectantly. 

He watched at her for a moment before answering carefully. “Not dangerous at all to Qunari. For your kind it is as dangerous as those who breathe it in.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I don’t have time for riddles, Arishok. Apparently.” She said. 

Sebastian winced at her forthrightness, noting the way the giant’s brows drew together in a frown. A kitten teasing a bear, Varric had said.

The Arishok paused for a moment as if considering whether or not to answer, before he finally speaking. “The gas kills, but first it turns allies against their own in blind rage. The more dangerous the skill of those sent against us, the more damage they do to their own people.” He said it in the manner of a teacher instructing a pupil.

“Hard to control at the best of times.” Anabel said, almost to herself. She looked up at the Arishok. “And you thought this was a good idea?” she accused.

Again that small look of amused approval. “It is no longer my problem.” He pointed out.

“Shortsighted.” Muttered Hawke under her breath. The Arishok either didn’t hear, or chose not to acknowledge her comment. 

“I have long thought this city would destroy itself. This would merely hasten it.” He turned once again to leave but Hawke’s voice interrupted his departure.

“One more question. You made your dislike for this city clear three years ago. Why ask for me? Why give me this warning?” 

The Arishok frowned, as if he himself wasn’t quite certain. “I don’t pretend that anyone in this city is worthy of being an ally or even a good rival. But you.” He looked at her appraisingly. “You have shown… competence. The Qun may demand an accounting. Until then I will show respect to the most promising among you.”

Hawke seemed to accept this answer. “I appreciate the warning, Arishok. Thank you.” She bowed her head slightly.

“ _Panahedan_ , Hawke.” He paused before adding. “I do not hope you die.” With these enigmatic words he left his throne. Sebastian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Well.” Hawke turned to face her companions and to Sebastian’s surprise she had a delighted smile on her face. “Was it just me, or was that almost a compliment?” She glanced at Varric. “Any ideas where Javaris might be?”

The dwarf shook his head. “No, but the Coterie would know. I’ve heard rumors he’s run up some debts. You really think he’s behind this?”

“Javaris?” She shook her head. “No. He’s not the patient type. He would never have waited this long. But the Arishok believes he’s involved, and the Arishok doesn’t act on hunches. Javaris is connected to it somehow.” She glanced at the nearby Qunari guard who had begun to scowl at them. “I think we’re wearing out our welcome here. We’d best go visit the Coterie. Darktown it is.” She glanced at Anders. “Do you need to get back to the clinic? We can drop you off there.”

Anders glanced at Sebastian before answering. “No, I can stay with you if you need me.”

“When do I not?” Hawke said lightly, not noticing the satisfied look Anders shot Sebastian at her words. 

 

It was a day full of new experiences, thought Sebastian. First the Arishok. Then Darktown. How had he not known how dire things were down there, he thought making a mental note to speak to Elthina about it. 

But by far the most remarkable thing was seeing Anabel Hawke fight for the first time. 

She was fast. Beyond fast. She seemed to disappear from in front of a target only to immediately reappear directly behind them. It was almost a dance for her, leaping, twirling, flipping around the battleground. An enemy would try and hit her and she would be simply gone. She and Fenris fought as a team, but would separate, taking on enemies individually before suddenly joining together again to eliminate a more threatening opponent. She seemed to have an almost preternatural ability to sense where the elf was and move accordingly. It was like nothing he had seen before. 

Sebastian and Varric had positioned themselves on higher ground., firing their arrows and bolts from a short distance away. At one point Sebastian caught one of Javaris’ knaves in the neck when he came too close to her. Anabel looked down in surprise at the arrow protruding from the man’s throat and then looked up, flashing him a grin before she was gone again. She didn’t stop until all the guards were dead, only the dwarf left cowering on the ground.

“Calm yourself Javaris, you’re not dead yet.” She said, catching her breath.

Javaris mouth dropped open when he recognized her. “You? Granny’s garters she would hire you. Fine, kill me, send my head back to that sodding elf on pike.”

Hawke frowned, trying to make sense of this. “What elf?”

“The obvious thief was perhaps a bit too obvious.” Commented Anders. 

“You mean we’ve trekked all the way out here for nothing? Remind me to send the Arishok a special thank you for that.” Said Varric.

Javaris looked panicked. “The Arishok? You’re tracking for the Qunari? Bitch-born! She did it. She got those hornheads after me.”

Hawke watched him pace back and forth. “Anytime you feel like making sense.” She said, exasperated.

The dwarf stopped his pacing and glared at her. “I’m minding my own business and out of the blue some elf tries to kill me. Says she’s got the Qunari powder and I’m her cover.”

Hawke went tense as Javaris babbled on. Crap. Of course it was a cover up. Why was nothing in Kirkwall ever simple? She let Javaris finish and then let him go after he’d given them the elf’s location. She watched him walk away with a frown on her face.

“Why not just take the powder and use it? Why’s a cover needed? What are they planning?” She asked.

“And who are ‘they’? added Sebastian. "Who would profit from the actions?"

She gave him an approving look. “Who indeed? Have you heard anything, Varric?”

“It’s not the Guild or the Coterie. I’d have heard about that.”

Hawke chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “Shit. Someone’s setting up the Qunari. We need to get back to the city.” 

 

Anders had been shooting looks at him for the last half mile, so Sebastian wasn’t that surprised when the man actually spoke. It was what he said that came as a surprise.

“Is that supposed to be Andraste's face on your crotch?”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. He’d only just met the man. What reason could he possibly have to be so childishly rude? 

“That... belt buckle thing.” Anders gestured distastefully towards it. “Is that Andraste?”

“My father had this armor commissioned when I took my vows as a brother.” Sebastian explained, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

Anders looked unimpressed. “I'm just not sure I'd want the Maker seeing me shove His bride's head between my legs every morning.”

Sebastian looked at him in outraged surprise. He opened his mouth to respond only to be interupted by Anabel's calling out. “Be nice Anders or none of the other children will want to play with you.” 

She came trotting up beside them. “I wanted to ask, Sebastian, are you going to the Reinhardt’s dinner party?”

“I am.” He hadn’t been planning on it, actually, though he had received an invitation.

“Would you be my escort? It would save us both some difficulty.” 

Sebastian noticed the scowl on Anders face with some satisfaction. “I’d be delighted to, Anabel.” 

Anders turned abruptly and stalked off to walk beside Varric. 

Hawke and Sebastian continued side by side. He glanced down at her. The fight had left her hair tangled and barely restrained by the red cord. He cheeks were flushed, and she looked smaller than ever. She looked much more like the girl he remembered from the Chantry that day. Had he not seen her fight he would never have believed her capable of such skill. Nothing in her appearance would lead you to believe it. 

She looked up and caught his eye. “That’s an interesting look. What are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about the way you fight” He admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you learn to fight like that? To move like that? It’s more like acrobatics than dagger work.” 

She gave him a mischievous look. “Hadn’t you heard? I was taught in my youth by a troupe of traveling Antivan acrobats.”

He just laughed. “You’re never serious, are you?” He said, shaking his head.

She smiled enigmatically. “We were living In Fereldan. I was fourteen. There was a group of Antivan acrobats came through. They got caught in a blizzard, and one of them was hurt. Da found them and healed them and they ended up staying with us for most of the winter. I’d been in a sulk because Carver was getting huge, and had started using a two handed sword, and suddenly he much more lethal than I was in a fight. I saw the Antivans practicing, sparring, throwing daggers and such. I pestered and pestered and once Da had given his permission, they started teaching me. It was loads of fun. The tumbling. Learning to use knives. Combining the two skills. I was a natural, they said.” 

“Of course.” Antivan acrobats indeed. She rivaled Varric with her storytelling.

She put her hands on her hips. “You still don’t believe me, do you? I can juggle too. And walk on my hands. I’m considering running away and joining the circus if this whole noble thing doesn’t work out. You’re welcome to come along.” 

He couldn’t help smiling. “And what job would I have in a circus?”

She looked at him appraisingly. “You could take tickets? Be the ringmaster? Of course!” She suddenly exclaimed. “You could shoot apples off my head with arrows.”

If anyone could convince him to run away and join the circus it would be her. “Torn between two choice already and you tempt me with a third? You’re a cruel woman, Anabel Hawke.” He looked ahead at the others. “It’s quite stunning the way you and Fenris fight together.”

She gave the elf an affectionate look. “He’s a wonderful partner. It took some effort before we figured it out. Both of us have a tendency to want to take charge when we fight. But it’s worked out well, I think.”

“More than well, I’d say.” He looked at the elf who was frowning as he listened to Varric speak. “I’ve never seen tattoos like that before.”

“You probably won’t again. They’re lyrium.”

“Lyrium?” He glanced at Fenris and then back to Anabel. “How?”

“How is he not dead?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t either. He was a slave in Tevinter. He belonged to some bastard named Danarius. A magister. He was given those markings to turn him into a living weapon. The ritual took away the memory of anything that happened before. The memories of what followed are appalling enough. Fenris managed to escape and eventually ended up here.”

“Is his former master dead then?” 

“No, still alive and committing horrors back in Minrathous, as best as I’ve been able to discover. Fenris is convinced he’ll turn up at some point to reclaim him. That’s not going to happen.” She added with a determined gleam in her eye.

“You care for him.” 

“I love him. He’s a brother to me.” She gave him a speculative look. “You two would like each other I think. He’s prickly as the Void, abrupt to the point of rudeness, and has a hard time opening up to people. Some can’t see past that. But his friendship is so worth the effort. And he could use more friends.”

“I look forward to getting to know him.” He delighted in the pleased smile she gave him. They walked in companionable silence for a time.

“Were you really taught by Antivan acrobats?” He asked, looking sideways at her.

She just shrugged. “So they claimed." She looked thoughtful for a moment, before speaking again. "You know, in hindsight, I suspect they may have been Crows. They knew an awful lot about daggers and poisons for simple circus folk.” 

The others turned around in surprise when Sebastian burst out laughing. 

 

As they neared the city, Sebastian struck up a conversation with Fenris, walking slightly ahead of the others. Varric followed them, taking in every word, Anabel suspected. She lingered behind with Anders.

“So.” She said idly, looking up at him.

He glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re being such a dick to Sebastian?”

He should have known she wouldn’t let that pass. “You know that year with the Red Iron didn’t do a thing for your vocabulary.” He said, avoiding the question.

“Nonsense. My vocabulary was sorely lacking in euphemisms for male genitalia, excrement, and sexual intercourse. My work suffered for it, I think.” She glanced sideways at him. Still scowling. “So what really bothers you about him?” As she spoke she leapt up on top of a crumbling wall next to the road and walked easily along the top.

He glanced sideways at her ready to catch her if she slipped. She never did. He looked at the Prince and Fenris walking ahead of them. He could hear snatches of their conversation. 

“Are you an Andrastean, Fenris?” The self-righteous prig is going to try and convert the elf? Well, good luck with that. 

Hawke was looking at him expectantly. 

He sighed. “He’s everything I hate about the Chantry. Sanctimonious, unquestioning, blindly accepting of everything the Chantry has crammed down his throat.” Handsome, cultured, charming. Untainted. Not possessed and tormented. A part of Hawke’s new life as a noble in Hightown. At ease with that part, and fitting in the way Anders never could. He’d watched Hawke’s transformation over the last few years with growing unease. As much as she complained about it, she seemed to be fitting in just fine. And why does he keep calling her Anabel? As if he knows a side of her no one else does. “Why is he even here with us?” He asked, knowing perfectly well how petulant he sounded.

Hawke ignored the question. “Why don’t you ask him about it?” she suggested. “All these questions you have about how the chantry can treat mages the way they do?” 

He grunted in response.

“Or you know, you could just continue to be a dick.” She jumped a gap in the stone.

“You can’t fix everything Hawke. He and I are about as opposite as two people could be.”

“Opposites attract?" He just glared. “Give him a chance Anders.” She coaxed gently. “He’s a good man. A good priest.”

Something in the words stirred a memory. “Wait a minute. Is he that priest? The one you talked to after we got back from the Deep Roads?” She looked over at Sebastian and just smiled. Shit, he thought. In addition to everything else Sebastian had in his favor, he was that priest. His scowl deepened momentarily before he sighed.

Maybe she was right. Maybe Sebastian was one of the good ones. Maybe he was utterly devoted to Andraste and her teachings. Maybe Anders would be lucky for once and the man would stay devoted to Andraste, and stay far away from Hawke.

Maker, he was a horrible friend, denying her even the chance for any sort of relationship. He’d seen the way she looked at the Prince. Worse yet, he’d seen the way the Prince looked at her. Shit, he thought again.

Hawke was still watching him expectantly. Anders sighed. He could feel Justice’s displeasure rumbling in the back of his brain. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance.”

“Good.” She suddenly leapt off the wall and onto his back, shouting, “Piggyback!’ 

With an ‘oof’ Anders caught her under the knees. Her arms locked around his neck. 

“You’re such a child sometimes, Hawke.” He said with a shake of his head. But he was smiling in spite of himself. She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Only sometimes. When the occasion calls I can be as grim and grown up as you. Thank you for making the effort.” She kissed him again. “And thank you, Justice, as well.” He felt Justice grumble in the recesses of his mind, and ignored it.

  


The sun was going down by the time they made it to the Lowtown location Javaris’ map had specified. There was a commotion up ahead. Several guardsmen were in a frantic discussion at the gate. 

“Aveline.” Called Hawke, and the tall red haired guard turned her head. 

“Hawke! I was just wishing you were here.” 

Hawke walked over to her. “Let me guess – a poisonous gas and men going mad and attacking each other?”

Aveline put her hands on her hips. “Did you have something to do with this?” she said in an accusing tone of voice.

“Oh that’s nice.” Hawke said, with feigned outrage. “Maybe I’ll just sit this one out.”

“And maybe I’ll stuff a canary up your coal hole.” Said the Guard Captain. Anabel just grinned at her until Aveline was forced to smile back. “I’m glad you’re here. Macon.” She called. One of the guards turned around. “Tell Messere Hawke of the situation."

The guard looked panicked. “I can’t even describe… Reports of a haze, a cloud of gas with the stench of rust and vomit. Anyone caught in it just went mad. Others just retched themselves dead.”

“Lovely.” She quickly filled Aveline in on what they had discovered. “You’ve got to hand it to the Arishok. This poison, sarqamek or whatever it’s called, could have been tailor made for Kirkwall.”

Aveline was frowning. She turned back to her guard. “Keep your post, Macon. We’ll take it from here.” Said Aveline. They walked to the gate. “He’s a good man. Trust it’s as bad as he says.”

The stench hit them immediately. A green haze flowing from several barrels coated the ground. Hawke felt her eyes begin to sting. “Maker. We need to find a way to shut those barrels.” 

Each time they shut a barrel a wave of crazed people seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Four barrels shut, the last of the men slain, and finally the air seemed to be clearing a bit. Sebastian’s throat and eyes were burning. Anabel turned and retched in the corner. She straightened and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Well, isn’t this a fun way to spend an evening.” 

“Hawke!” Fenris called in warning. Another group was coming down the stairs, led by an elven woman clutching a lethal looking two handed sword.

“Easy there. I’m just trying to find out what happened.” Anabel said carefully. Perhaps she could avoid another fight.

The elf looked crazed as she peered down at them. “Is that…Serrah Hawke.” she cackled madly. “You have enemies.”

“Well, duh.” Muttered Hawke.

“I’m glad its you.” Said the elf as she looked around at the corpses. “These poor people. You are a much better target.”

Anabel gave Varric an exasperated look. “Why are people always trying to kill me? I’m actually a lovely girl.”

He just shrugged. “You do talk a lot. And there’s that killing thing you do. Puts some people off.” 

Sebastian stared at them, amazed they could still joke.

The elf continued as if she hadn’t heard them. “My people come here, my siblings lose their culture, then go to the Qun for purpose. We’re losing them twice!” She looked at Hawke, who said nothing. “So I get some help from your people. We’ll steal the Qunari thunder, make some accidents, make them hated.” She looked around again. “But this, this is all wrong.”

“Which of ‘my people’ helped you?” asked Hawke sharply.

The elf seemed to not hear. “It could still work. They’re hidden in your city. They’ll enrage the faithful. Make sure the Qunari are blamed.”

“I can help you.” Anabel persisted. “Just tell me who told you to steal the powder.”

The elf laughed bitterly. “Me? I’m finished. All I need is a few more bodies.” With a roar of rage she ran forward lifting her weapon high.

In a few moments she lay dead in front of them. 

“The Arishok was right. And wrong.” Aveline looked at Hawke. “Someone needs to tell him.”

Anabel just rolled her eyes. “Mind if I catch my breath first, Guard Captain?” She slumped to the ground. Sebastian sat on a crate and shut his eyes, trying to ease the stinging. Every muscle in his body ached. He’d thought he’d been keeping in shape, practicing at the Keep three days a week. When he opened them again Anabel was standing there in front of him holding out a skin of water. He accepted it from her and took a large swallow, and then splashed some over his eyes. The stinging eased slightly. He looked up at her. “Is this the sort of thing I'll have to get used to when travelling with you?”

She looked apologetic. “We do seem to get into these sorts of situations quite a lot. I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you wanted to back out of your offer.”

He looked at her standing there, eyes red rimmed from the poison gas, voice hoarse and thought about how she had stood in front of the Arishok, surrounded by his Qunari guards, absolutely fearless. He thought of the elf they’d just killed, delighting in calling her a target, telling her she had enemies. “Not at all. Whenever you have need of me, just let me know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read about the events at the beginning of this chapter from Anders' point of view here:  
> [Healing Hawke](http://archiveofourown.org/works/621377)


	5. Quite the Busy Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reporting to the Viscount, Hawke encounters an old acquaintance at the Keep. Sebastian meets Boy, and they both accompany Hawke when she goes to the Gallows as a favor for Aveline.

Anabel was deep in thought as she left Viscount Dumar's office early the next morning. He had been as disturbed as she by the Arishok’s behavior. At her suggestion, however, he was going to enlist Saemus’ aid in attempting a diplomatic solution. He'd seemed surprised when she had suggested it, until she reminded him of just how much Saemus knew on the subject. She herself had offered to try and discover just what had been stolen from the Qunari, and if possible find it and return it. A crisis was inevitable if they did nothing. 

She passed through the antechamber, trying to remember all she knew about the Qunari’s arrival in Kirkwall. She and Carver had just started working for Meeran and had been more concerned with finding their place in the Red Iron than "a bunch of hornheads squatting in the Docks", as Meeran had so charmingly put it. There had been a storm, the Qunari fleet had been wrecked, including the dreadnaught leading it. 

What had a Qunari dreadnaught even been doing this close to Kirkwall? No one seemed to have asked that question. 

_Something was stolen from us. Not now, years ago._

So they’d been in pursuit of someone. But the dreadnaught was a battleship. So not someone, something. Another ship. What had happened to that other ship then? Had it been wrecked as well? She frowned and increased her pace, barely paying any attention to the usual crowds outside the Viscount’s offices. She felt like she was missing something, something obvious. She rounded the corner of the antechamber sharply, and plowed straight into someone with enough force that she was knocked back to the floor. She looked up into a pair of vivid blue eyes and started laughing.

“Well, this seems strangely familiar. Do you think we'll ever run into each other, without, you know, actually running into each other?" 

“Anabel, I am so sorry.” Sebastian reached down and pulled her to her feet. “I don’t make a habit of knocking young women over, truly.” He smiled apologetically.

“It’s just me, you mean?” She teased. “You do know how to make a girl feel special.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. What on Thedas had possessed her to wear it down today? All it did was get in the way. At least she'd had the sense to pull the front section back with a ribbon so it had some semblance of order. She looked up at him, unable to keep the smile from her face. It was ridiculous that just seeing him made her this happy.

"There was a time when I could do that without knocking her off her feet." he said ruefully. Her hair was magnificent, Sebastian thought. Except for that glimpse of it at the Hanged Man yesterday, he'd never seen it unbound before. It was positively wild, an uncontrolled mass of curls falling almost to her waist. That would have been striking enough on its own, but when the brilliant color was added to the mix it was absolutely breathtaking. He couldn’t help smiling at the blue silk ribbon holding it out of her face. Hawke and her hair ribbons. They were so unexpectedly girlish. 

She smiled up at him. “I’m just teasing you. It’s entirely my fault, charging around corners, thinking of other things, and as usual not looking where I’m going.” She looked at him carefully. “How are you feeling? No ill effects from yesterday?” 

“Nothing worth mentioning. A scratchy throat was the worst I could complain of, and that was easily remedied by a cup of Sister Luisa’s rose hip tea. What of you?” She wore a different set of leather armor today, dark blue, a vest rather than a jerkin, absolutely form fitting, laced up the front, and worn with a deceptively simple white silk shirt beneath, the open vee of the neckline revealing that she was wearing his locket. The sight of it gave him an inexplicable satisfaction. 

“I’m fine.” She said brushing aside his concerns. 

He frowned slightly, wondering if it her voice sounded huskier than usual, or if it was just his imagination. It would be just like her to not admit to any injury. “What are you doing here so early?” He asked.

She sighed, a worried frown appearing. “I went to see the Arishok this morning, to tell him what had happened yesterday. He knew about it already, of course. The man has a truly impressive information network. Everytime I've gone to tell him something, he already knows about it. The meeting didn’t go quite as I’d expected. He said some things..." her voice trailed off for a moment and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, something Sebastian had realized she did when she was worried. "I thought the Viscount needed to know, so I came straight here.” 

“What happened that concerns you so?” 

She looked up at him not answering his question, but asking one of her own instead. “What do you know about how the Qunari came to be in Kirkwall?” 

He looked at her blankly for a moment before replying. “There was a storm. Their dreadnaught and fleet were wrecked off the Wounded Coast. They’re waiting for another ship.” 

“For three years?” She shook her head. “It’s strange how everyone’s just accepted that. It turns out it’s something else entirely. Something was stolen from them. They were chasing the thief when the storm destroyed their fleet. I don’t know what it was that was stolen but apparently the Arishok can’t return to Par Vollen until he gets it back.” 

“He's forbidden to return?” Sebastian asked. 

“That's what he said. But it's not just that. He hates it here in Kirkwall. I mean he really hates it. He kept saying things about cleaning it up, and then insisting it wasn’t his place to do so. But it was as if he was trying to convince himself of that.” 

_Cleaning up your mess is not the job of the Qun. And for that you should be grateful!_

She shivered. She had a really bad feeling about this whole thing. “We need to make sure that doesn’t change. We need to find whatever he’s been looking for, give it to him and hope that he just leaves. I don’t like to think what will happen to Kirkwall if we can’t.” 

Sebastian had noticed the shiver and wondered just how badly the meeting had gone. “The Arishok actually made threats against the city?” 

“Yes. No." She shook her head in confusion. "I can’t really say for sure. But he lost his temper, he lost control in front of me, in front of a _bas_ and that can’t be a good.” She looked up at him, and seeing his worry tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Maybe I'm overreacting. Why are you here?” 

He let her change the subject. “I meet with the Viscount from time to time, to discuss the situation in Starkhaven. Finding you here is serendipitous actually. I’d been planning on stopping by to see you this morning when I was done. I wondered if you might like to see the Chantry library this afternoon.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” she said almost breathlessly.

He smiled at her response. “I could pick you up at your house when I’m through here.” He suggested.

“I was just on my way to talk to Aveline, actually. Why don’t we meet back here when we’re both done?” 

 

Her meeting with Aveline was short, the efficient guard captain making her request with even more than her usual brevity as she had a meeting with the Seneschal. Hawke walked back to the Viscount’s offices, and leaned against the railing, watching the people come and go. It must be a thankless job, being the Viscount. All this hustle and bustle and demands constantly being made of you. She frowned as a vaguely familiar looking man came out of one of the side offices. She'd seen him somewhere before. He glanced up as he passed by her, and then did a double take and she suddenly remembered.

“Alfred, isn’t it?” She asked, crossing over to him. “You used to work for Lord Harimann.” 

Alfred was surprised that she remembered him. “Serah Hawke. It’s good to see you again.”

“I was so sorry when I heard about Lord Harimann’s passing. He was a good man.” She’d been genuinely saddened when she’d learned he'd passed away while they were still in the Deep Roads. He’d told her he was ill, but the end seemed to have come on very suddenly. He’d saved her life by sending Aveline and the guard that night. She still had his book on the Vaels. She'd never had the chance to return it.

His former assistant seemed pleased by her words. “He was a very good man." he agreed. "A nobleman of the old school. There are few like him left in Kirkwall.” Certainly not that witch of a daughter of his, Alfred thought, thankful yet again he’d found work at the Keep. After he’d discovered those papers he’d had no choice but to leave. If Lady Johane knew he’d even seen them, let alone found out that he'd taken them... She never would, he reassured himself, yet again. The papers were well hidden, he doubted she had even realized they were missing. Even if she did, there was nothing linking their disappearance to him. He’d left her employ more than two years ago, 

“You’re working here now?” Hawke asked. She’d always liked Alfred, who’d treated her well even when she’d been a penniless refugee.

“In the Seneschal’s office, yes. Working for the Harimann’s wasn’t the same after Lord Harimann passed away.” Thinking of those papers was making him uneasy. “I’m sorry, Serrah Hawke. I should get back work.” He said apologetically. 

“I didn’t mean to keep you. But it was nice to see you again.” She held out her hand to him.

She still had that same sweet smile, Alfred thought as he shook her hand. He remembered how Lord Harimann had been so concerned about her. “It was good to see you too, Serah Hawke.” He said and walked away to retrieve the information the Seneschal had wanted for the quarterly report.

She was still there when he returned, seated on the stone balustrade now, one leg swinging back and forth, that flaming red hair hard to miss. As he watched, her face suddenly lit up with a brilliant smile as she spied someone coming out of the Viscount’s office and she jumped off the railing almost skipping to meet the person. A lucky man indeed, he thought, to be the object of such affection. He couldn't see who it was at first, his view blocked by one of the columns, but as he rounded the corner he had a clear view of the couple and his mouth fell open in surprise. Brother Sebastian. But not in his robes, and looking at Serrah Hawke in a way that no celibate Brother usually looked at a young woman. His hand tightened on the papers he’d held, wrinkling them, as he remembered what he’d read in Lady Johane’s correspondence. 

_Sebastian seems to be more than content to remain in the Chantry. Since our last attempt failed so spectacularly, let us leave him for now. While he remains a priest he is no threat to Goran’s rule. Should that change in the future however appropriate action will need to be taken._

Alfred watched them as they spoke, the affection between them obvious. His carefully constructed justification for keeping what he had learned to himself crumbled as he watched the Prince offer her his arm, looking down at her, his eyes warm. With that same sweet smile, Serrah Hawke slipped her hand in the crook of the Prince’s arm and they left the Keep together totally absorbed in each other, leaving Alfred staring bleakly after them. 

 

“You hadn’t been waiting long, had you?” Sebastian asked as they walked down the stairs from the Keep.

“No, not long at all. You’re sure you don’t mind the change of plans? 

“Not at all.” He reassured her. “The Chantry library will still be there when you’ve the time.”

“Let me at least buy you lunch. Do you like Rivaini food? I know a wonderful place for it down by the Docks. It’s little more than a hole in the wall, but the food is marvelous and they’ve got some tables set up outside. If Rivaini’s too spicy for you we can find something else.” She was talking too much, but she couldn't seem to stop.

He cut her off with a reassuring smile. “I love Rivaini food, and I’m more than happy to accompany you.” 

He really was the nicest man she thought breathlessly. “How did your meeting go?” 

“We actually ended up talking more about you and the Qunari than anything else. I told The Viscount I would help you with your search, if that’s all right with you, of course.” he offered.

Relief flooded through her. The more she had thought about it as she waited the more daunting the task had seemed. “Yes, it’s all right. It’s more than all right. Thank you.”

He gave her that serene smile. “You’re welcome.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Anabel paused in front of the Amell mansion. “Do you mind if we stop and pick up Boy? I like to let him stretch his legs when I can and he loves being in boats.”

“Boy?” he asked. 

“My mabari. Well, Carver’s mabari, actually, but we’ve adopted each other since Carver left.” 

“Of course.” He had to admit, like most of Hightown, he was curious to see the results of the extensive rennovations. 

To his surprise she just pushed open the door and walked in. It wasn't even locked. There was a dog, the mabari he assumed, barking enthusiastically somewhere in the house. He loked around at the entry. The mansion had been restored beautifully, the floors done in Antivan tiles, the interior stonework restored, the woodwork seemed new, but it was of superb workmanship. Oddly though, the rooms were remarkably devoid of any furnishings.

Anabel was watching him, a small smile on her face. “I know. There’s no furniture.” She walked into the main room and he followed her. It wasn't much better in this room. A sideboard. A few chairs. a writing desk. Another desk on the far wall. “Leandra hired some fancy Orlesian decorator who convinced her that design had to be subtle, and if you clutter a room with too much furniture the personality of the owner might be overwhelmed. I tried telling him it would take a warehouse of furniture to overwhelm Leandra’s personality. Strangely, neither of them appreciated that remark.” She said wryly. She looked up the stairs towards the sound of the barking. “Boy, quiet down!” She shouted, walking over to the desk at the far side of the wall and picking up a stack of letters. She flipped quickly through them before dropping them back on the desk. 

A door on the side of the room opened slowly and a dwarven boy peeked out before sidling into the room, a hesitant smile on his face. No, not a boy, Sebastian realized, in spite of the lack of a beard, but there was something childlike about his demeanor. 

He looked uncertainly at Sebastian and then back at Hawke.

Anabel gave him an affectionate look. “Hi, Sandal. This is Sebastian.”

The strange pale eyes turned to him. “Hello.” He said, blinking solemnly.

Sebastian smiled kindly. “Hello Sandal. It’s good to meet you.” 

Sandal gave him a little smile before turning back to Hawke. “I want pie.” He announced.

Anabel, just nodded. “What sort?”

Sandal seemed to think about it. “Apple.” 

“Good choice. I’ll pick one up on my way back.” Sandal grinned and ran out of the room.

“Sandal and his father Bodahn help keep me organized and keep this house running.” Anabel explained. “I’d be lost without them. Boy, quiet down!” She shouted up the stairs again, as the side door opened again and Sandal returned with an older dwarf. 

“Welcome home Messere!” He said with a big smile. “Your messages are on your desk.” 

“Thank you Bodhan. I already looked at them. Sebastian, this is Bodahn Feddic.”

“Messere Feddic.” Sebastian nodded his head.

“Oh please.” Said the dwarf with a chuckle. “It’s just Bodahn, your Highness. May I say it’s an honor to meet you.” The dog’s barking increased in volume and frequency and Bodahn looked pleadingly at Anabel . “That ruckus has been going on for some time, Messere. Can you calm him down?” It was as close to a complaint as Bodahn would ever get.

“I’ll go see what’s gotten into him. Come on, Sebastian. I’ll give you the tour and introduce you to Boy.” She grabbed the bannister and trotted up the stairs. “Leandra’s room’s over there.” She said pointing at a door. "It was her room when she was a girl. No hidden meaning there I’m sure.” There was a large open area at the top of the stairs, with floor to ceiling windows. Again it was empty of everything but a few plants. “I love this space.” She said, looking around. “I’ve been trying to convince Jean Paul and Mother to put some couches up here, but apparently that would ruin the flow or some such nonsense.” The barking got louder as they approached another door. “And this is my room.” She pushed the door open. 

An enormous beast of a dog was barking ferociously in front of one of the wardrobes. Sebastian had seen mabari before but this one seemed large even for the breed. He would have been hesitant to approach it on his own, but Anabel walked right up to him arms folded over her chest.

“I’m sure whatever the furniture did it’s very sorry, Boy.” 

The dog looked at Anabel, and if a dog were capable of rolling its eyes, Sebastian would have sworn that Boy did before he turned back to the wardrobe and growled threateningly. 

Anabel was frowning. “All right. Let’s see, then.” She took a step towards the wardrobe.

“Please don’t open the door.” Came a muffled voice from inside. 

“Good boy! You’ve caught a burglar!” Anabel glanced back at Sebastian looking surprisingly pleased for someone who’d just discovered a thief in her bedroom, he thought. “Come on. Out with you.” She ordered. 

The door swung open and a man stumbled out of it looking fearfully at the mabari who was still growling softly, his hackles raised.

“My legs are cramping.” The man whimpered. “Please, just let me go.” 

Anabel crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to just let you walk out of here? You’re in my bedroom. I’m not certain I can overlook such an egregious invasion of my privacy.” Her eyes were twinkling as she spoke.

“Please serrah. I was seduced by crime at a very young age. But your guard monster has set me on a path towards honest work.” The man attempted what Sebastian was sure he considered a suitably contrite expression. 

Anabel’s lips twitched at the performance. 

She was trying not to laugh, Sebastian realized. Surely she wasn’t going to just let the man go, was she? 

She seemed to consider the man’s words. “All right. I can be sporting.” The man slumped in relief before she added. “I’ll give you to the count of five before I sic my mabari on you.“

The man’s eyes flashed to the dog and back to her. “What? Surely you wouldn’t!”

“One.” She said slowly.

“B-but…” The man stuttered.

“Two.” 

“AHHHH!” The man ran screaming from the room nearly barreling into Sebastian as he ran past.

Anabel looked down at Boy. “Three, four, five.” She said in a rush. “Make sure our guest leaves quickly.” she said to Boy. The dog gave a joyful bark and ran out after the hapless burglar.

Sebastian couldn’t help laughing. 

“Welcome to the carefully controlled chaos that is my life.” She said with a wry smile.

"Are you really going to just let him go?" he asked.

"His going back and telling tales of escaping my "guard monster" will do more than any number of guards in keeping other burglars away."

There was a certain logic to it. "You might consider locking the front door."

She brushed the suggestion aside. "Then I'd have to keep track of a key." 

He looked around the room. Rich fabrics and warm colors, and a beautiful landscape dominating the far wall, lots of plants, cushions tossed on a soft rug in front of the fireplace, and still more pillows thrown on an impressively large four poster bed that dominated the entire room. "This room seems much more suited to you." he commented.

She looked pleased. "I told Leandra she could do what she wanted with the rest of the house on two conditions. One, that we have a library with a lot of bookshelves, and two that I had final say on what went into my room. They agreed, except for the bed."

His eyes went back to the four poster. 

“It’s ridiculous isn’t it? The Amell ancestral bed. It’s a family heirloom. Leandra and her decorator demanded it be restored and that I have it. Apparently, I am the scion of the Amell family. Are you impressed?”

He laughed. “You’re the what?” 

“That was my reaction exactly. Jean Paul was very insistent. I am the scion of the Amell family, and as such I’m expected to sleep in in this monstrosity.”

He ran his hand over the carving of one of the posts. “It is a beautiful piece.”

“It is, and at least the room is large enough for it. It’s a little lonely some nights but it’s obscenely comfortable.” And she’d just told the priest her bed was lonely and comfortable. And obscene. _Idiot_ , she thought and quickly changed the subject. “Come. You still haven’t met Boy properly.” She all but ran back downstairs. 

Boy was rolling around on the floor with Sandal in front of the hearth when they came down, but he scrambled to his feet and ran up to Anabel coming to a halt when Sebastian walked up beside her. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Don’t be like that.” Anabel reprimanded. “This is Sebastian. He’s a friend.” 

The dog gave her a look that seemed to say he would decide that for himself. He moved to Hawke’s side, looking intently at the Prince. 

He was a magnificent animal, Sebastian thought. Intelligence fairly shone out of his eyes. “Your hound is a mark of nobility in Fereldan, is he not? I’ve heard that gaining a mabari’s loyalty is considered the ultimate proof of character there.” 

Anabel gave the dog a affectionate look. “That’s him. My own living, breathing, slobering status symbol. Now if I could just get him to stop leaving muddy footprints on my bed.” 

Boy just snorted and gave her a look before walking up to Sebastian, who held out his hand for the dog to smell. The hound sniffed carefully, looking over at Anabel, before returning his gaze to Sebastian. After a moment's deliberation, he nuzzled his head under Sebastian’s hand and Sebastian scratched him gently between the ears. Boy immediately flopped to the ground and rolled over on his back giving Sebastian a hopeful look. Sebastian laughed and crouched down to scratch the dog’s belly.

“He likes you.” Anabel remarked. “You should be honored. He’s very particular with his affections.” 

“I’ve always liked dogs. I’ve missed having them in the Chantry. They care nothing for worldly power. The Maker would like to see us learn from them.” He added a second hand and gave the dog a good belly rub, before getting to his feet again. Boy scrambled upright and gave him an enthusiastic bark that seemed to indicate his approval. Sebastian bowed in response.

Anabel just laughed. “You’re going to spoil him with that kind of treatment. Don’t let it go to your head, Boy.” She turned to the dwarf. “Bodahn, I’ll be eating lunch out.”

“Yes, messere.”

“Come on, Boy, we’re going to the Gallows.”

The dog made a discontented sound.

“Yes, I don’t like it there either, but it’s a favor for Aveline.” 

The dog cocked his head at the name and then walked to the door almost grudgingly.

Sebastian watched him, impressed. “Their intelligence isn’t exaggerated.”

“Not a bit. Varric’s actually taught him to play Diamondback. I’m not sure if it’s brilliant or frightening.” She said, walking towards the door.

“I would think it would depend on if he’s any good.”

Hawke gave a delighted laugh as she opened the front door. “Well, he’s better than Anders.” Boy barked in agreement. 

They left the house and walked through the market and down the steps into Lowtown heading towards the Docks, and the ferry over to the Gallows.

“I thought we’d head over to the Gallows and then get lunch, if that’s all right with you. Or are you starving?” She looked over at him.

“That sounds fine. I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t had really good Rivaini food since I left Starkhaven.” 

She looked up at him in surprise. “They have good Rivaini food in Starkhaven?” 

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked.

She seemed perplexed. “I'm not sure. Spicy food from exotic northern locales seems somehow at odds with an elegant but landlocked city in the middle of the mountains.”

“Not at all. Starkhaven is renowned for its culinary excellence, as well as the variety of their food.” 

She gave him a glimpse of her dimple. “And here I thought it was just the fish pie.”

He shook his head. “Ah, Brother Genetivi. It’s probably best not to mention him if you ever dine at the finer establishments in Starkhaven. The man has managed to singlehandedly reduce an entire nation’s cuisine to one rather overly rich seafood dish.”

“Perhaps someone else will write new travel guides. Ones that actually give useful information about the country you’re visiting.” She glanced up at him. “You could do it. You’ve probably traveled quite a bit.” 

“I have.” Whenever he’d had the opportunity to escape from the stilted atmosphere of the Court, in fact.

“I’ve only been to Fereldan and now Kirkwall. Of course I’ve been all over Fereldan because we moved around so much. Where have you been?” she asked.

“All over the Free Marches. Fereldan. Navarra. Orlais. Antiva. Rivain. I almost made it to Seheron once, but my keepers caught up to me.”

"You were a lot of trouble weren't you? What part of Fereldan did you see?”

“Denerim mostly. But I spent some time in Amaranthine as well.” 

“We lived in Denerim when I was a baby, but we left before the twins were born. But we were in Amaranthine for almost a year. When were you there?”

He tried to remember. “In the spring of ‘20, I think.”

She looked delighted. “But we were living there then!” She gave him an appraising look. “Maybe we saw each other. Maybe we met and neither one of us remembers. Wouldn’t that be interesting?” He didn’t have a chance to answer before she continued with her questions. “Where did you stay? With Bann Esmerelle probably?”

He almost choked at the thought. “Definitely not. She was a horrid woman, may the Maker have mercy on her soul. I was traveling with some of my more disreputable friends. We stayed at a rather shady place near the Chantry as I recall.”

She looked utterly delighted. “Not the Crown and Lion?” 

He racked his brain trying to remember. “That sounds right.”

She started laughing. “But I worked there! Maybe we did see each other.” 

He stared at her. “You couldn’t have been more than ten years old in ‘20.”

“I was nine.” 

She was working when she was nine years old? “What did you do there?” 

“Ostensibly, I worked in the kitchens. I was actually a lookout for the smugglers.” At his surprised look she explained. “There was a smugglers’ run underneath the place. They paid the owner for access. It was my job to make sure no one noticed it and run and tell if they did.” She started laughing when she saw the expression on his face. “I did warn you that I was far less reputable than you thought.”

She continued to surprise him. “You were working for smugglers at the age of nine? And your parents let you?”

Her eyes were merry. “Leandra did. Of course to be fair, she thought I was just working in the kitchens, she didn’t know I was working for the smugglers. Da was away that Spring. He’d taken a mercenary job. He did that from time to time.” She explained. “We ran a little short of funds while he was gone so I went looking for something to bring in some extra coin. Da was absolutely furious when he got back and he found out. It’s one of the few times I remember him losing his temper with Mother. I didn’t understand why. I was having loads of fun.” 

He shook his head, though he couldn’t help smiling. “I begin to understand your affinity for the Hanged Man a little better. Didn’t a pretty little girl look terribly out of place there?” 

“They didn’t know I was a girl until the day Da stormed in there to get me. They thought I was a skinny little boy. You should have seen how startled they were when Da picked me up to carry me home and my cap fell off and all my hair went everywhere. We left Amaranthine shortly after that. Da’s job had paid well enough that we could, apparently.” 

They’d reached the ferry and Anabel insisted on paying the fare over. Boy ran to the front of the boat, liking the feel of the wind in his face and Sebastian and Anabel settled themselves on one of the benches, resuming their conversation.

“So you were dressed as a boy for the job?” he asked.

Anabel tucked one foot under her leg, and turned so she was facing him. “I always dressed as a boy when I was little. We were trying not to be noticed, remember. So always nondescript clothes with something covering up my hair.” 

He glanced at the long red curls tumbling down her back. It supposed it made sense to cover them up, but it seemed a crime to have to. “Didn’t you mind?” 

She shrugged. “Sometimes. I mean, most girls like pretty things with frills and ribbons and such.”

She turned to look out at the harbor and he caught the flash of blue silk in her hair. It explained the hair ribbons she was so fond of. “And what of your sister? Did she mind?”

Anabel looked surprised at the question. “Bethy was never dressed as a boy.” 

“Why you and not your sister?” he said with a frown.

She brows came together. “I don’t know.” She said as if the question had never occurred to her before. “I think she was too pretty to pass for a boy. She was beautiful. She looked just like mother. A true Amell.” 

“So once you’d settled in one place, after your sister’s magic showed, you stopped disguising yourself?” He asked trying to make sense of it.

“No. Da said it wasn’t safe.” She said absently, looking out over the front of the boat. “Look, we’re here.” 

The boat pulled up to the Gallows dock, and they got out, Sebastian still frowning, thinking of Leandra. There was no doubt she was good looking, but it wasn’t Hawke’s delicate beauty. Leandra had strong features. Striking. Handsome rather than pretty. A daughter who looked like her would be all too easy to disguise as a boy. Why disguise the child without magic? It didn’t make any sense. 

He glanced down to find Anabel looking up at him expectantly. “So aren’t you going to ask me who we’re going to see?”

He realized it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask, just the pleasure of her company had been reason enough to accompany her. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m showing a remarkable lack of interest, aren’t I? All right, who are we going to see?”

“A templar named Emeric. I helped him out before, years ago. A mage named Mharen had gone missing.”

“I remember that. She’d been murdered.” 

Anabel nodded. “The Kirkwall Killer. I hate it when they give murderers nicknames. It makes them seem less dangerous somehow.”

But she wasn’t the only one killed, Sebastian remembered. Several women had gone missing. Only body parts had been found, and few of them had been positively identified. He suddenly realized what she had said. “Sweet Andraste, it was you who found them, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Her eyes darkened as she remembered opening that sack. Seeing what was inside. She deliberately pushed the image out of her mind, “I couldn’t catch him though. It still makes me furious. Emeric had turned over his information to me, and that’s what led me to... that's how I found them. Emeric’s found out more, and he’s been making a nuisance of himself, pestering Aveline about it. He agreed to stop if I came and talked to him.” She frowned. “I shouldn't put it that way. No one believed him before and look what happened. He deserves to be heard, at the very least.” 

After consulting with Knight Captain Cullen, who seemed startled to see good Brother Sebastian consorting with the somewhat notorious, and most certainly unconventional Hawke, they found Emeric on guard duty in a corner of the Gallows courtyard. Hawke frowned as she approached. She didn't know much about Templar hierarchy, but a guard post in the courtyard seemed a post for a much lower ranking templar.

Emeric straightened when he saw her. “Serah Hawke.” he said with satisfaction. He moved a little more stiffly than he had when she’d first met him. He still made her think of an aging lion, once powerful, but now slowed by age. 

“Hello, Emeric. Aveline says you need my help?” 

He nodded. “Thank you for coming to see me. Yes. For the past few years I’ve continued my investigation into the murders of those women, Ninette, Mharen and the others. I finally have a suspect. A man named Gascard duPuis.”

She looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. “Do you need me to find him?” she asked.

“I know where he is. I just can’t get at him. When I became convinced of his guilt I went to the city guard and demanded they do something. The guards raided his mansion and found nothing. They were forced to apologize and I was reprimanded by the Knight Commander. That’s why you find me here.” He spread his hand indicating the courtyard.

She could only guess what a blow that would be to the pride of a senior member of the order. “I’m so sorry Emeric.” 

He gave her a knowing look. “Meredith forbade me from continuing my investigation. But she didn’t say I couldn’t get help.” He said pointedly.

He wanted her to take over the investigation again. It was what she had feared when Aveline had told her he’d asked for her. “Has no one else been looking into these murders?” She asked hopefully.

Emeric scoffed. “The Templar order thinks it is a matter for the city guard. And the guard has rejected my evidence and says they’re isolated incidents.”

Hawke’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Isolated incidents? With a bag of remains of different women, one of them positively identified as belonging to one of the victims?”

“They said they could have been gathered together by scavengers collecting jewelry. Women are dying out there and no one’s doing anything. No one cares.” Said Emeric bitterly.

“I care.” Said Hawke firmly. “Tell me about this Gascard DuPuis?”

“He’s a reclusive nobleman who hardly leaves his estate in Hightown. He knew two of the women and was making inquiries about a third. It can’t be a coincidence.”

She turned her head, looking at the people milling about the courtyard, but not really seeing them. She didn’t want to have anything to do with this investigation. She didn't want to wonder what those women must have gone through before they'd been cut apart. She didn't want to see it again. She still had nightmares. She was unaware of Sebastian's watching her, his concern plain on his face. After a moment she turned back to face the Templar and nodded. “All right. I'll look into it.”

Emeric’s whole body relaxed. “Thank you. I’ve faced nothing but ridicule. To have someone say that is encouraging.” 

His gratitude made her feel ashamed of her reluctance. “What do you need me to do?” 

“You’ll need to go to Gascard DuPuis’ house after nightfall. Find out what he’s hiding. If he’s innocent find evidence to prove me wrong. It’s just that simple.”

Simple. Break into a nobleman’s house, find evidence he’s a serial killer. Evidence that the city guard failed to find on a man who was important enough that the Templars apologized to him. “I’ll see what I can find out Emeric. I may not be able to find anything.” She cautioned. 

“I have faith in you. Serah Hawke.” 

No pressure then, she thought, as Emeric walked away.

She was quiet as they got on the boat back to the Docks. Troubled. Boy seemed to sense it, and instead of running to the front of the boat, he curled up at her feet. She reached down and idly stroked him as she looked out at the water.

Sebastian watched her for a moment. “Are you all right?” he asked softly. "You've had quite the busy morning. The Arishok. The Viscount. Aveline. The burglar. And now Emeric." So many responsibilities put upon her. And she was such a little thing. 

She gave him a weary smile. "It has been busy hasn't it? It's sort of nice to just be sitting here on the boat. Just being still. I should do it more often." A breeze from the harbor blew her hair into her face and she brushed it aside.

"You said something like that once before." He commented. 

"Only the once?" she said forcing a light tone. "I think it at least twice a day."

"What were you thinking of just now?" She'd looked so tired suddenly, and more than a little overwhelmed.

She sighed. "I was just imagining the hundred and one things that could go wrong with Emeric’s request.” 

“You obviously impressed him when you helped him before.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” He could hear the frustration in her voice. “All those years ago. I didn’t stop those women from being killed. I didn’t catch the murderer. I couldn’t even bring back their bodies. Just pieces of them.” She said bitterly. “Women are still disappearing, you know. Not as many as before, but still. No one’s found anything, but they’re still missing. No one is looking even. And you know what the truly awful thing is? If I could, I wouldn’t look either. I’d walk away and have nothing to do with it.”

“But you won’t.” He was smiling gently at her his eyes filled with sympathy. 

She sighed. “No, I won’t. But I wish I could. That's what an awful person I am." 

“But it’s that which makes you one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “I don’t feel brave." She admitted. "I feel like going home, and crawling into my ridiculously large bed and pulling the covers over my head.” 

“You can’t.” Her hair blew into her face again, and he reached out and brushed it back.

“No?” she asked, staring up at him. 

“No.” he said shaking his head. She had the most remarkable eyes. "I'm afraid running back home and hiding isn't an option." 

She smiled at him. “Why is that again?” She asked, knowing the answer was bound to be something about duty, or obligation to the helpless, or the Maker's will. 

His bright blue eyes twinkled at her suddenly. “You still owe me lunch.” 

She laughed out loud, and he smiled at the sound. “I do, don’t I? Very well. A full Rivaini lunch as promised. And if you can handle their Vindaloo without your eyes tearing, I’ll even throw in dessert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon alert: 
> 
> I've always thought of Rivain as being something like India or perhaps the Middle East, so in my mind Rivaini food would be similar to Indian food. The best and hottest Indian food I ever had was in Edinburgh, Scotland. That's somehow translated into my personal Dragon Age universe, and Starkhaven now boasts some of the best Rivaini food in all of Thedas.
> 
> I've also never understood why there is so little furniture in the Hawke mansion. Or why she has four wardrobes in her bedroom. I thought it was just a quirk of the game but then noticed that the de Launcet mansion and even the Blooming Rose have more sensible and much nicer furnishings. So Leandra's become an interior design victim, and Hawke's bedroom has become blatantly AU. And yes, Hawke will be redecorating in the future. For the Maker's sake, with all she does the woman deserves to have a sofa, at least.


	6. What Madness Has Come Over this Place?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian discovers who hired the Flint Company and enlists Hawke's aid in confronting Lady Harimann. Hawke receives an unexpected education while there. 
> 
> Takes place shortly after [The Best Cure for Hiccups](http://archiveofourown.org/works/545663), which should be read first.

Anabel was soundly asleep when her bedroom door slammed open and Leandra stormed in. “Anabel! What have you done now?” 

She groaned and buried her head in her pillow. “I don’t know, Mother. What have I done now?”

“A message from the chantry was just delivered, from Brother Sebastian, asking that you stop by to discuss something. What does he want to discuss? Did you say something inappropriate last night?” 

Her mind went back the to the dinner party at the Reinhardts. She’d spent a lot of it talking to Sebastian. Well, almost all of it if she was honest. “I don’t know. Probably.” She couldn’t think of anything specific, but chances were she had.

“Anabel!” her mother shrieked, waving the letter around. 

She pushed herself to sit upright. “Do you mind if I actually see my letter, Mother?” Leandra all but shoved the letter at her. Anabel took it, scowling when she realized the seal was broken and Leandra had read it. 

_Anabel,_  
 _Would you be able to come to the Chantry this morning? There is something I need to discuss with you._  
 _Yours,_  
 _Sebastian Vael_

Her fingers traced over the signature. He had beautiful handwriting.

Leandra’s hands were on her hips. “Well?”

Anabel folded the letter and put it on her night table. “Well, what?”

“What does he want?” she demanded.

Anabel couldn’t help laughing. “Mother, you read the same words I did. How should I know what he wants?”

Leandra gave her an exasperated look. Didn’t she realize how important a person Sebastian Vael was? She didn’t begin to understand why he was being so attentive to Anabel, but she wasn’t about to let her daughter ruin it. “Well get dressed. Don’t keep him waiting. And wear a dress.” She called over her shoulder as she left the room closing the door behind her.

Not bloody likely, thought Anabel. She lay in bed for a moment thinking about the previous evening. It had been wonderful. She had worried that things might be strange between them after that suprising kiss on the Wounded Coast the day before, but he’d been the same as ever when he’d come to pick her up for the Reinhardt’s dinner party. He’d hardly left her side all evening, much to the confusion of the other guests. The party had been almost fun. So either he really had done it just to cure her hiccups or he’d done it for other reasons, but didn’t regret it. She lifted her hand, trailing a finger over her lips, thinking about how it had felt. How their mouths seemed to just fit together. How he had tasted. The heat that had coiled inside her when his arms had tightened around her. She rolled onto her stomach, hiding her idiotic grin in her pillow. She didn’t have a clue as to what it meant, but, oh, how she’d enjoyed it. She pushed the covers off and climbed out of her bed, walking over to her wardrobe and pulling out some clothes.

 

Leandra’s eyes narrowed when Anabel came downstairs wearing her leathers, her hair in a careless braid over her shoulder, daggers strapped on. She could swear the girl did it deliberately just to provoke her. 

“What are you doing?” She shrieked as Anabel turned towards the kitchens instead of towards the door.

Anabel just raised an eyebrow. “Getting breakfast?” She continued into the kitchen, slicing herself a piece of bread and spreading it liberally with butter and jam. Bodahn wordlessly placed a cup of coffee by her plate. She smiled at him and took a large bite of bread, as Leandra stormed in after her.

“Anabel you do not keep a prince waiting.” The girl had learned nothing of society. 

“He’s not a prince, he’s a brother.” Hawke said with her mouth full. Crumbs sprayed across the table and Leandra looked horrified. All right, Hawke admitted. She might have done that on purpose.

Leandra stood there tapping her foot until her daughter had finished her breakfast. “Now will you please go?” she implored.

Anabel nonchalantly picked up her coffee cup, draining it, and then carefully placing it beside her plate. She took up her napkin and delicately wiped her mouth before getting to her feet. “I’ve got to meet the others in the market first. I’ll take them along.” 

Hawke had to admit Leandra’s screeching about inappropriate friends and not being a lady as she left the house put a smile on her face. She picked up Varric and Fenris at the market and they made their way to the Chantry.

Varric glanced sideways at her, noting the small smile that curved her lips. “So Choirboy sends a note and we come running? Something I should know about?” 

She shot him a wary glance. “Varric.” She said in warning.

He ignored it, warming to the subject now. “The destitute refugee, saving the handsome prince from the assassins who had slaughtered his entire family. ‘How ever will I repay you my lady?’ the Prince asked, his limpid blue eyes looking up at her. Hawke’s eyes smoldered with passion as she reached for the handsome prince. ‘I can think of many ways’ she said as she thrust her hands down the front of his pants, firmly grasping his throbbing...”

“No.” she said, scowling at him now.

And he thought he wouldn’t have any fodder for his stories with the Prince. “I’m just saying Hawke. There’s a story there.”

“No.” she repeated firmly. He just grinned at her, and began whistling as they started up the Chantry stairs.

She spied Sebastian in the chancel with the Grand Cleric, and walked towards them trying desperately to ignore Varric’s whispered commentary. 

“Hawke crossed the Chantry purposefully, her goal the handsome but chaste prince who stood there bathed in the light reflecting off the golden statue of Andraste. Hawke eyed the Bride of the Maker. ‘You have a husband already, Lady. You shall not keep me from mine. If I have to tear the clothes off both of us and take him here, in front of all the faithful, to prove he belongs to me…” 

Hawke whirled around. “Varric, I will stab you.” she hissed.

Varric just chortled in delight.

They reached the stairs to the Chancel and she could hear Sebastian and Elthina speaking. 

“I thought it had ended. I had accepted I would never know who had given the order. Flint Company was slaughtered at my behest. None remain. But now that I know who sent them, who was responsible, it’s harder to see it as justice.”

She saw Elthina shake her head. “Death is never justice, Sebastian. You know that.”

“I...” He glanced over, and saw Anabel at the top of the stairs. "Anabel.” He hadn’t realized until he saw her how much he’d wanted her there. “We were just talking about you.” He said. 

She gave a tentative smile, wondering what had happened. “Saying good things I hope.”

“Hawke said diplomatically.” Varric said in a hushed voice.

She rounded on him. “You know, I really hate it when you do that.” 

“Hawke muttered in an angry aside to the dwarf.” 

Her eyes narrowed and her hands actually wavered over one of her daggers, Sebastian noted with some amusement. Before blood could be spilled in the Chantry he interrupted them. "If you two have a moment?” 

With one last warning glare at Varric, Hawke turned to Sebastian and the Grand Cleric. “I apologize your Grace.” She smiled warmly at the older woman, knowing how important she was to Sebastian. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you my child. And you needn’t worry.” She said kindly. “Like so many others we have only good things to say about you and the work you do in Kirkwall.”

She felt herself blush at the compliment. She turned back to Sebastian. “I got your note. Has something happened?” 

“I’ve discovered who hired Flint Company. The Harimanns.” 

Hawke’s eyes widened when she heard the name. “I think I’ve met Lord Harimann.” She commented, careful to keep her voice neutral. Varric snorted softly and she shot him a look of warning. Could Lord Harimann really have been responsible? Granted she hadn’t known him well, but it didn’t seem to fit with what she did know of him.

Sebastian was pacing back and forth. “Lord Harimann died some years ago, rather suddenly. He went quite strange at the end.” Sebastian explained, thinking momentarily of how confused and disoriented Lord Harimann had been at the end, the wild accusations of magic and demons in his house, his frenzied demands that Sebastian “take care of the girl”. Sebastian hadn’t known who he’d meant, but in the end he’d promised to do so, just to give the older man some peace. “It’s his daughter, Lady Johane Harimann who appears to have been responsible for my family’s murder.” He still couldn’t fathom it. “They were my parents’ allies. Their friends.” He said, in disbelief. “To think that she did this.” 

“How did you find out?” Hawke asked, her eyes filled with compassion. If it had been Anders or one of the others she would have slipped her arms around him, held him until he was soothed.

“There was a letter, papers waiting when I returned from the Reinhardt’s last night. Receipts of monies paid to Flint Company. Correspondence detailing the plans. Letters sent after Goran was put on the throne. Letters threatening my life, should I decide to leave the Chantry. Signed by her.” He looked down at her, his agititation plain to see. “I need to know why. I need to speak with her.” 

She nodded. “Of course you do.” She said softly. Unable to stop herself she reached up and put her hand briefly on the side of his face. Just a touch, but it immediately calmed him. His eyes met hers and he wondered at the relief just her presence gave him.

Hawke opened her mouth to offer to accompany him when Elthina spoke.

“No good can come of this, Sebastian. If you treat the Harimanns as you did those mercenaries you could start a war. Let it go. Dedicate yourself to the Chantry as you once swore.” Her grey eyes were filled with worry. 

He shook his head helplessly. “I can’t. Not without knowing why. I have to speak with her.” His eyes went to Anabel who was watching him with a concerned frown on her face. “But I’m the last of the Vaels. I shouldn’t go alone. I was hoping you might be willing…” 

She didn’t let him finish. “I wouldn’t let you do this by yourself. If I'm with you she should think twice before trying anything. Did you want to go right away?”

She hadn’t attempted to dissuade him or told him to wait. Just offered her aid. He almost slumped in relief. “Yes. Thank you, Anabel. Let me just fetch my bow.

She frowned as she watched him leave. “Varric.” She said, not taking her eyes from the Prince.

“Hawke.” He asked, his previous playfulness gone.

“I think we should have Anders with us. You wouldn’t happen to have one of your urchins nearby that we could send for him, would you?” It couldn’t hurt to have a healer there. Or a mage.

Varric nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” He walked down the stairs and out of the Chantry.

She looked at Fenris. “You’ll come, won’t you?” she asked.

He gave a small nod of his head. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment before adding. “He seems a good man.” 

She smiled at him, “He is. One of the rare ones, I think.” She turned and walked over to the Grand Cleric.

“You’re worried.” She said sympathetically. 

Elthina nodded. “I can’t fault Sebastian for wanting to know who’s responsible for his family’s deaths, but he is too impetuous. I worry that he may do something he’ll regret later. Please, Hawke. Try and restrain him. Keep him from being reckless. From acting impetuously. If the Harimanns are guilty, the Viscount’s justice will take care of it.” She hesitated before adding. “Keep him from harm.”

The love Sebastian had for Elthina was returned in equal measure, she realized. She truly cared for him, and as more than just another cleric under her care. “I took care of Flint Company. I promise I’ll keep him safe now.” She assured her.

Elthina looked puzzled. “You took care of Flint Company?” 

Hawke just smiled. “Didn’t he tell you? It’s how Sebastian and I met.” She turned away as Sebastian rejoined them. “Ready?” she asked with a smile.

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling back at her. For the first time since opening the packet and reading the papers last night, he felt somewhat in control of the situation. “I am. Thank you, Anabel.” 

She put her hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze, looking up into the blue of his eyes. Nothing would happen to him. Not while she was there. 

Elthina stared at the two. She could have warmed her hands on the affection that flowed between them. When had that happened, she wondered. And how was it she had never learned that it had been Hawke who had killed the mercenaries who murdered the Vaels? 

Anabel turned back to the Grand Cleric, with that same easy smile. “I’ll bring him back soon.” 

“Thank you, Hawke.” Elthina said automatically. She watched them leave with a confused frown on her face. She needed to think on this.

  


As they waited in the Chantry plaza for Anders to join them, Hawke turned to Sebastian. “Tell me about Lady Harimann.”

Sebastian tried to think of what would be important to the task at hand. “They say she’s become quite reclusive of late. I lost touch with the family after Lord Harimann passed away. But I used see them frequently while he was still alive. She's a proud woman. Ambitious.”

“Do you have any idea why she would have turned on you?” Hawke asked. 

“Money? Power? I don’t know.” He shrugged, feeling utterly helpless. “My mother used to say Lady Harimann was jealous of our family being royalty while theirs was mere nobility, but I can’t imagine that pushing her into outright murder.” He shook his head.

“If there’s one thing I learned with the Red Iron it’s that you’d be surprised just what will drive people to murder.” 

He was surprised. “You don’t think that’s a little cynical?”

“Sadly. no.” She looked up and saw Anders coming up the stairs from Lowtown. He smiled and lifted a hand in greeting when he saw Hawke. It faltered briefly when he saw Sebastian and Fenris nearby. 

“I’ll be right back.” She said to Sebastian and walked over to meet the mage, slipping her arm through his. “Thank you. I didn’t tear you away from patients, did I?”

“No. It was fairly quiet today.” He said. He glanced over at Sebastian who was speaking with Fenris. “Varric’s note said it was something to do with Vael?” 

Hawke glanced over at the Prince, her concern obvious. “Sebastian’s found out who was responsible for his family’s murder. Turns out it was a family friend. He wants to go and confront her.”

Anders gave a snort. “Oh that sounds like a marvelous idea.” Hawke gave him a reproving look as if reminding him of his promise to give Sebastian a chance. “I’m here, Hawke. I’m willing to help.” He pointed out. 

She smiled at him. “Yes. I do appreciate it, truly.” 

He looked over as Sebastian joined them. “Sebastian.” He said simply. He’d help him, but wasn’t about to call him Prince or Brother. 

“Anders. Thank you for coming. I’m grateful for your aid.” 

Anders looked at him carefully trying to spot any mendacity but the man fairly radiated sincerity. Did he never put a foot wrong, Anders wondered. “Your whole family was killed. The one responsible should be brought to Justice.” It was as much a reminder to that voice in his head as an acknowledgment to the Prince in front of him. 

Sebastian inclined his head in thanks. “The Harimann’s house isn’t far from here.” He said and led them up the stairs.

The mansion looked every bit as imposing as Hawke remembered, but as they got closer she realized all the curtains were drawn, there was no sign of activity. They walked up the stairs and she saw the door was ajar. 

Sebastian frowned. “Where are the guards? The servants? No one here and the door just open?” He glanced at Hawke. “Something is very wrong.”

Hawke didn’t reply but carefully reached for her daggers. She pushed open the door and they stepped into the hall. The chill hit her immediately, along with of something else, something that thrummed at the base of her skull. Magic. Not the good kind, as Anders put it. She caught his eye for confirmation and he gave a small nod, taking his staff in hand. There was more than just political intrigue going on here. They moved into the entry. The sconces on the wall were unlit, as were most of the lamps, giving the whole house a gloomy feel. The few rooms on the entry level were either locked or empty. They moved up to the main floor. Hawke opened a door to revealing stairs to a lower level. “We come upstairs to find a set of stairs down?” she asked. 

“Kirkwall is built on the side of a hill, a mountain almost. Many of the houses up here have such irregularities.” Sebastian explained. 

“I still think the Tevinter architects were drunk.” She muttered. “So up or down?” she asked. As she spoke a wave of something, something malevolent, and dark, and utterly nasty hit her with such force that she almost jumped back. She shuddered and closed the door quickly. “Up first, I think. Let’s make sure no one’s hiding or in danger.” 

Anders looked at her with concern. She’d gone pale for a moment. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, hoping beyond hope that they’d find Lady Harimann upstairs. She really didn’t want to know what was making the basement feel like that. 

She’d learned more about this strange gift the red lyrium had left her with in the last two years. She’d learned that a powerful mage felt different from a weak one. That each different schools of magic felt different. Anders had been a great help with that, as talented as he was with all the schools. The first time they’d encountered a blood mage after they’d returned from the Deep Roads she’d been physically ill. She had better control of it now, but even after more than two years, every time she felt nauseated she looked around expectantly for a maleficar. 

They went down a narrow hallway, Sebastian leading the way. Hawke grabbed hold of Anders sleeve, holding him there, letting the others get far enough ahead that she could whisper without being overheard. 

He glanced up ahead and looked quickly back at her. “What did you feel?” he asked.

“Demon, I think. Down that flight of stairs. I can’t tell what else. But it’s strong.” 

He nodded. He’d learned to trust her judgment on this. This ability she’d gained was fascinating. He wished there were places that they could study it without her being in danger of being locked away. 

They heard a woman’s voice shouting as they came to the sunken kitchen. 

“More, you lazy son of a bitch.” A young woman was yelling at a wine barrel, cursing it. 

“Flora?” said Sebastian in surprise. She didn’t respond. He went quickly down the stairs to her.

She leaned her head against the barrel “Why does no one in this house care what I want?” She sounded close to tears.

Hawke moved to Sebastian’s side. “Who is she?” she asked softly.

Sebastian looked back at Hawke in confusion. “Flora. Lady Harimann’s daughter. We played together as children." Until he’d grown older and developed other interests and decided she wasn’t pretty enough to associate with. He was shamed by the memory. He’d tried to make it up to her since he’d come to Kirkwall. “It’s as if she doesn’t hear me.” He was utterly perplexed by what might have happened to her. He tried to remember when he had last seen her. Had she been at the Viscount’s ball? He couldn’t recall. She must have been. Ruxton had. “This is no normal wine.”

Hawke walked up to the woman and waved her hand in front of her face. No reaction. 

“I don’t think it’s the wine.” She looked around the room as if considering. “She seems safe enough here, for now at least. Let’s see who else is here.” They left the kitchen and Anabel stopped suddenly. 

“Does anyone else smell smoke?”

“There.” Fenris pointed to an open door, with smoke drifting gently out. As they moved closer to it they heard a young girl’s voice pleading piteously, and they rushed into what appeared to be a dining room. There was a large cauldron over a fire in the middle of the room. A young elven girl was struggling, held by another elven servant. Another Harriman, to judge by his resemblance to Flora, was demanding that servant pour molten gold over her. The girl saw them and sobbed a plea for rescue. The servant looked startled to see them and the girl managed to twist herself free from his grip. He tried to grab hold of her and Sebastian knocked him out with an impressive single punch to the face.

Anabel looked at him in admiration. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that.” She looked over at the man standing there, still talking, seemingly unaware of what had just transpired. She looked inquiringly at Sebastian.

“That’s Brett.” Sebastian said and then started as Anders doused the fire next to him using an ice spell.

Anders couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face. “Sorry. Should have warned you I was going to do that.”

Sebastian suspected he wasn’t sorry at all. Such casual use of magic was still surprising to him. Fenris was scowling, but Anabel and Varric didn’t seem to even have noticed. They were both looking through various papers that were lying about the room.

Hawke was frowning as she flipped through a leather bound book. “Listen to this: _Mother finally began her expansion to the estate today. She brought in two dozen men from the Imperium who I'm sure were slaves, and they've been excavating the hillside behind the house. The dirt is awful. And the noise! Must they shatter every rock in Kirkwall? It's been quiet since lunch, though, and Mother is behaving very strangely. She's now talking about stopping the expansion—just like that, with no explanation. She never tells me anything...”_

“What are we listening to?” Asked Varric.

“It’s Flora’s journal, I think. This is where it gets interesting though: _Ruxton is behaving so oddly. Today he pinched my buttocks! Just reached around the table and... I can't imagine what would make him do such a thing. And to the servant girls, as well! Some of the things he says would truly make a sailor blush. I told the maids to lock up the wine, but it hasn't made any difference so far. I'm going to the chantry tonight to pray for him._ So they start work on rennovations, and within a day or two, stop work, and slowly everyone starts to change.” She looked around. 

“What’s the date on it?” asked Varric.

Hawke flipped through. “The first entry’s a few months before your family was killed, Sebastian. 

“Sounds like they found something nasty in the basement.” Commented Anders.

Hawke scowled. “I hate Kirkwall. In any other city it would just be foundation problems. But no, Kirkwall has to be special.” They moved on. 

The next few rooms were empty, and then they came to one that looked as if someone had just stepped out. The fire was lit. There was wine on the table. Anabel picked up a book. “Another diary.” She read the entry. 

_"What can be happening? First Ruxton, now Brett. I can't talk to either of them anymore. I don't know what they're drinking, but they are lost in their own little worlds. And Mother doesn't care; should she even be here, all she talks about is Starkhaven and marrying me off to that idiot Goran Vael. What madness has come over this place?"_

Sebeastian’s fists clenched. Flora’s diary confirmed it. Lady Harimann had been plotting with Goran, or with whomever was controlling him back in Starkhaven. 

Anders cursed under his breath suddenly. 

“Find something?” Anabel walked towards him and her stomach roiled alarmingly. She paused for a moment to get control and crossed to him. He didn’t speak but gestured to the rows of vials filled with red liquid. “Blood magic and demons both?” She shook her head. Maker, people were idiots.

Sebastian felt a chill up his spine. “Demons?”

Anabel turned to look at him with concern. “I think so. The way Flora and Brett were acting, and now this.” She said indicating the vials.

He walked over to look at them. This was more than he had expected. How had the Harimanns, one of the Free Marches' most respected families, come to this. 

They walked out of the room and heard a faint moan from the far end of the hall. They moved quickly towards it. Another smaller staircase led up. They heard another moan, and Anabel moved quickly up the stairs. The three men looked at one another.

“I don’t think that was pain.” Said Varric.

“No.” Agreed Sebastian. “Anabel!” He called out after her but she had already rounded the corner as they heard a voice groan out. “Lower!”

They rushed into the room after her, only to be confronted with a portly and very naked man, fully erect and obviously tremendously proud of it. Ruxton Harriman, Sebastian realized with astonishment. He thought of the last conversation he’d had with Ruxton when the man had bored him to almost tears with his talk of trade duties. An elven prostitute, her heavy makeup streaked on her face, glanced at them disinterestedly, her eyes glazed over with drink or potion, and then turned back to minister to Ruxton. 

Sebastian looked at Hawke whose mouth had formed a perfect “o” of astonishment, her cheeks flaming pink. 

“Where have you been all my life.” Ruxton cried out as the prostitute trailed her mouth down, leaving streaks of blood red lip color on his chest. He giggled delightedly. “Lower, lower.” She went to her knees, and he threw his arms open wide happily crying out “Come, felicitate me!” 

Varric and Anders both burst out laughing.

“Ancestors!” said Varric. “I wish Isabela had been here to hear that. She’d probably have it embroidered on a shirt.” 

Hawke’s eyes went wide as the woman seemed to swallow the man’s erection whole. Maker, how on Thedas was she doing that? Was she actually swallowing it? She could see her throat…

“Use the feather.” Cried Ruxton. 

The feather? When Anabel saw where the feather was going she whirled around, only to be confronted with desk piled full of whips and manacles and other things. She peered at them, frowning, trying to figure out just what they were. The desk was a tangle of leather straps attached to assorted… she flinched back as she recognized just what was attached to the straps, and stumbled against a strangely angled y-shaped bench with more leather straps on it, obviously to hold someone in place. What in the world? She suddenly flushed bright red as she realized what it would be used for, and Varric and Anders both burst out laughing again at the alarmed look that appeared on her face. Even Fenris was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. She couldn’t bear to look over at Sebastian. 

Ruxton Harimann began to shout out his orgasm and she covered her face with both hands.

“Where’s your brother? Let’s get your brother,” Ruxton called out excitedly.

Hawke made a strangled sound. “I’m just going to. Sorry, I just...yes.” She ducked out of the room, to the sound of more laughter. She was going to kill Varric and Anders. 

Sebastian quickly followed her. “I’m sorry Anabel. I would not have exposed you to that if I’d realized.” 

She managed a smile though it was a bit shaky, rather than the reassuring one she been trying for. “It’s okay. I’m being silly. I just…I mean… it’s one thing to read about it in Isabela’s books, but to just have it right there in front of you.” She felt her cheeks grow even hotter, if that were even possible. She took a deep breath and gave him a sheepish grin. “Well, at least I’ll have accurate pictures in my mind the next time I read one.” Which wasn't going to be for a long while, at least until she stopped picturing Ruxton Harimann nude. She braved a glance at Sebastian. He was smiling at her, a smile she couldn’t quite read. “I really wish I could stop blushing. It’s ruining that whole sophisticated, woman of the world thing I’ve been aiming for.” 

“But adds something much more sweet.” Said Sebastian looking down at her, trying to resist the urge to kiss her on the forehead. Who was he trying to fool? He was trying to resist taking her in his arms as he'd done the other day in that moment of madness on the Wounded Coast. Just the memory of the feel of her mouth under his....

She glanced at him, puzzled by the comment, as the others rejoined them. 

Varric was actually wiping tears from his eyes, he’d been laughing so hard. He tossed something to Hawke. “Thought you might want this for later.” 

She caught it automatically. One of the strap-ons from the desk. She immediately hurled it back at him. He ducked, laughing, and it went flying by his head to bounce harmlessly off the opposite wall. 

“Something is very wrong.” Said Sebastian, glancing back at the room. “I’ve known Ruxton Harimann my whole life. He’s a complete prude.” 

Ruxton chose that minute to call out. “I’ll be the naughty Templar and you be the runaway mage. Get the manacles.” 

“He seems to have gotten over it.” Hawke commented dryly. “But I agree. There’s definitely something at work here. So. Who wants to go explore the creepy basement and find out what?”


	7. Demons and Temptresses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian, Hawke and the others venture into the ruins underneath the Harimann house.

Hawke took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she’d felt when she’d opened the door to the basement before. Oddly, the sensation seemed less now. Perhaps whatever it was she'd felt had retreated. She gestured to the others to follow and they descended the stairs, weapons drawn. It seemed to be the original wine cellar. Hawke could see and open doorway on the far side of the room. 

Figures moved in the shadows and Flora, Brett and Ruxton shuffled towards them. There must be more passages down leading down here than the one they'd found. It was the only explanation of how the three had arrived here ahead of them. Their movements were strange, shambling, as if whatever was controlling didn’t know quite how humans moved.

Flora, if it was Flora, lifted a hand and pointed at them. “Turn back. There is nothing for you here.” The voice was strange as well. The inflection was off somehow.

Hawke tilted her head looking carefully at the woman. She didn’t think it was Flora. “Odd, when we watched you being a drunken ass you ignored us completely.” It was a statement designed to provoke.

Flora just looked at her, an almost puzzled expression coming over her face. “You shall not enter.”

Hawke smiled mockingly. “But I already have.” 

There was a loud crack and a flash of light and Flora’s eyes rolled up to the back of her head. She and her two brothers collapsed to the ground. 

To Sebastian's horror, shades sprang up in the darkness around them, and a desire demon shimmered into view.

Hawke glanced at Sebastian and much to his surprise she flashed him a grin. “Well, at least it’s not boring!” she said saucily. 

Before he could respond she had turned and run towards the demon, executing a series of flip flops that gave her body such momentum that the final flip let her fly right over the demon’s head. She pulled out her daggers even as she straightened and slammed them down into the creature’s back. It shrieked in outrage, a shriek that was cut off as Anabel thrust her dagger into its throat. She yanked free, not even waiting for it to collapse to the ground before she’d moved on to the next target. He could have sworn he heard her singing softly under her breath and she passed him. He saw Fenris’ glowing form streak across the room straight into a group of shades that had cornered Varric. A fist of stone seemed to fly from Anders, barreling into two more shades. As suddenly as it had started, it was suddenly done. He looked down at the corpse of the demon. 

“Demons. Temptresses.” He said softly. It had been a desire demon, he realized. He’d never thought he’d see one in person. And this was just the start. Who knew what was farther in? He looked up at Anabel. She was looking at him closely, but she seemed completely unafraid, almost casual. “What greater evil are they protecting?” he asked.

“I think we can expect more of the same as we continue. But probably stronger ones. It’ll be more difficult. Do you want to continue? We can go back. Get others.”

He shook his head resolutely. “No. Let’s continue and be done with this.”

She nodded and moved to the doorway in the back. It opened to a low tunnel, rough hewn, and fairly recent. Hawke and Varric fit well enough but the others had to stoop down to be able to walk through it. It eventually opened to reveal a stairway down, with beautiful if crumbling arched stonework. At the bottom the room opened up and they looked around in surprise. They were in a cavern of sorts. The remains of buildings were all around them. 

“A ruin under Hightown. I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Sebastian tried to figure out what direction they were facing, if the ruins went under the Chantry itself, or extended the other way under Hightown. They’d turned so many times since entering the house that he was unable to figure it out.

Hawke trailed a hand over the stonework. “It must have been beautiful once."

Something flared to life just to his side. Another demon, he realized, trying to figure out what sort. This one was rage, he thought as he fired a volley of arrows into it. Two more appeared near Anders, and the mage doused them with ice, immobilizing them. Hawke appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, at Anders’ side and spun, hitting one with such force that it shattered into pieces. The other broke apart as Fenris’ huge sword came down on it. Hawke seemed to disappear, she moved so fast, only to reappear at Varric’s side. The two together made quick work of the remaining shades. It was amazing to see them fight as a unit. They possessed skills that came from years of fighting together.

They continued on through the ruins. Hawke looked around, taking it all in. “It’s almost like an underground city. What do you think it was used for?” 

Fenris scowled at a grimacing stone idol as they passed it. “Nothing good I’m certain.”

“Hmm. The number of bones lying about does seem to support that theory.” She agreed.

The moved through a narrow hallway that opened to a large chamber. A handful of shades and a weak rage demon were quickly dispatched and they began to cross the space when Anabel stopped suddenly. Her eyes grew distant and she slowly turned her head to look behind her. Her breath was coming faster. 

“Anabel?” Sebastian said warily, noting the sudden fear in her face.

Anders was immediately at her side. “What is it?” Sebastian was startled by the urgency in the mage's voice.

“Revenant!” Hawke was moving even as she shouted out orders. “ You, Varric and Sebastian stay at range, as far back as you can. Fenris!” 

Sebastian turned, still not quite understanding and saw something almost uncoiling from the ground. It had to be eight feet tall, fully armored carrying a sword almost bigger than Anabel. His throat tightened in fear, but he automatically fired arrow after arrow, as Varric shot bolts continuously and Anders cast spell after spell. It seemed to have almost no effect on the thing, almost as if the monster were regenerating as it fought. Anabel and Fenris worked together, seeming to almost taunt the creature so that its attention was focused on them rather than the ranged fighters. The thing lashed out at Fenris who sent out a pulse of blue white energy and the attack seemed to be deflected back at it. It staggered, letting out a howl, just as Anabel appeared in front of it. She stabbed with both daggers and then flipped backwards avoiding its reach. It snarled and reached out with one hand, pulling it suddenly back, and she flew through the air, crashing into the demon and crumpling at its feet. She lay on her back, unmoving. “Anabel!” he shouted. The revenant leaned down towards her prone figure reaching out a hand.

He heard Anders yell out, “No! Don’t you dare!”, and a fireball slammed into it, and it staggered back. Fenris appeared in a streak of white light, and a volley of bolts came from Varric’s crossbow. Sebastian raised his bow and aimed carefully. He released the arrow and it flew true, finding the slit in the demon’s helmet. The thing crashed to the ground.

Fenris was helping Hawke upright. She coughed suddenly and blood sprayed out. “Oh, ick,” she said hoarsely, her hand going to her side. She sank down on some crumbling masonry. 

“Mage!” shouted Fenris.

Anders pushed past Sebastian, scowling at Fenris, even as his hands were reaching for Hawke. “I have a name you know.” He knelt beside her and moved her hand off her ribs, sliding his arms around her. His hands glowed with pale blue light. After a moment, he looked at her and smiled. “You’re getting better, Sweetheart. Only one rib this time I think, and just a small nick of the lung.”

She coughed again and winced at the stab of pain. “I fucking hate those things.”

“If it’s any consolation I’m pretty sure they hate you too.” Commented Varric.

She gave him a withering look.

“What was that creature?” Sebastian asked.

Hawke looked up at him. He looked a little pale under his tan. She was impressed though. He was holding together fairly well. “Revenant.” She winced as Anders unbuckled her armor and slid the jacket off one arm. She coughed again, and flinched. “Fuck.” She muttered. She rested her head against Anders’ chest.

Anders looked up at him while sliding Hawke’s jacket off the other arm and dropping it to the ground beside them. “A revenant. It’s a dead body possessed by a demon. It has to be a powerful demon though.” He pulled the hem of Hawke’s shirt free of her leather trousers as he spoke, and slid his hands underneath to rest on her bare skin. Sebastian tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy he felt at the sight of the mage so casually touching her. Anders sent out another small pulse of magic before continuing. “The ones you really want to watch out for are arcane horrors. Demons possessing a mages body. All the fun we just experienced, and magic too.” He lifted Hawke’s arm and put it on his shoulder.

“Fuck, Anders.” Anabel snapped out at the movement.

“Language.” Admonished Anders, but he let his hand stroke her head briefly. 

She turned her head and looked up at Sebastian. “Sorry.” She said. 

He hated seeing her in pain. “It’s quite all right.” She tried to smile, but winced and turned her head so her face was once again pressed against Anders’ chest. 

“Ready?” Anders asked gently, his mouth at her ear. She nodded and Sebastian saw her hand curl into a small fist, gripping the feathers of Anders’ pauldrons. “One, two. Three.” At three there was a glow of blue light, and a hissed intake of breath from Hawke. The glow faded and the mage kept his hand on her waist for a moment, before moving her back so he could look in her face. “Better?” He asked.

Anabel looked pale, but she nodded, giving him a smile. She got to her feet and tucked her shirt back in and slipped her jacket back on. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” she said as she refastened the jacket.

“Probably be more careful about getting into these situations.” 

She laughed and then her eyes widened as she looked at Fenris. “Fenris! Your arm!”

Fenris looked down. Blood was dripping from a nasty looking gash. “I can take a potion.” He said gruffly.

Anabel made an exasperated noise. “You should have said you were bleeding. Bleeding trumps cracked bones unless said cracked bone has resulted in loss of consciousness. We’ve talked about this.” She looked at Anders who rolled his eyes and went over to the elf. Fenris scowled but let him work.

Sebastian walked over to Anabel. “Are you all right?” 

She brushed aside his concerns. “It was just a cracked rib. That was a beautiful shot, by the way. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” Sebastian said, still thinking of what they just seen. “Do you run into these revenants often?”

“Much more often then I’d like. They practically throw parties up on Sundermount.” She was smiling now, her injury apparently completely forgotten.

He frowned. “Are you certain you're all right? You seemed to be in some pain when Anders healed you.”

She looked up at him. “Ah. You’ve never broken a bone, have you?” she said with a knowing smile.

“No. An advantage of being an archer, probably." He admitted. 

“I thought not. When bones are healed, if the break is bad, the bone has to be moved back into the right position before it can be healed.”

He winced.

She just laughed. “Exactly. It hurts like the Void. It’s why I hate breaking bones.” 

“It’s not something you make a habit of, is it?” 

“No, but I do tend to get bashed about quite a bit. It happens more than I’d like. Anders likes to tell me I have an invincibility problem. He claims I never think anything is going to hurt me.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “But that’s not it at all. You just can’t bear for others to be hurt.” He said it like it was the most obvious of observations. 

She looked at him surprise. “Yes.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to not have to convince someone I don’t have a death wish.”

“Of course, just because I understand your reasoning doesn’t mean I don’t think you should be more careful.” He pointed out.

She laughed. “Duly noted.” She looked over at the others. Anders had finished healing Fenris’ wound and the elf got up and started to walk away. 

“Really?” said Anders, his irritation plain. “Not a word?”

Fenris glowered at him. “What was it you wanted?”

Anders made an exasperated noise. “Oh I don’t know, a thank you might be nice?”

Fenris’ scowl deepened. "I..."

“Forget it.” said Anders “You know you really don’t have the temperament for a slave.” 

“And is that a compliment or an insult, mage?” 

“I’m just wondering how your master didn’t kill you.” Anders reached into pocket and pulled out a lyrium potion.

The markings flared slightly before Fenris answered angrily. “And how have the Templars not killed you?”

Anders opened the flask and downed it. “Easy. I’m charming.” He said with a smug smile he knew would irritate the elf. 

Fenris muttered something under his breath and stalked away 

Anabel sighed. “Honestly, you two. It’s like dealing with children. I’m going to put you both in opposite corners in a minute. Come on.”

They continued along, down corridors and passages into other rooms. More shades and demons and undead.

Anabel’s face was grim as she looked around the latest room. She pointed to one of the many doorways. “This way.” It led to a narrow corridor, so narrow that they had to walk singly down it. 

Sebastian didn’t understand how she was deciding their direction. “How does she know?” He asked Varric, who was walking in front of him.

Varric brushed the question aside. “She’s got a sense for these things. Always knows where the monsters are.” 

Hawke came to a stop. “There’s someone up ahead, I think. Listen.” 

They could hear voices. Two women, it sounded like. The corridor emptied into a large room, with an even larger one beyond that. They moved quickly and quietly towards the voices.

“You must give me more. Starkhaven will not submit. I put that idiot Goran Vael on the throne and still the other families won’t submit…I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold. I need more power.” Sebastian recognized Johane Harriman’s voice and felt a surge of anger rise. 

At the far end of the room stood Lady Harimann and a desire demon. Beautiful in a twisted sort of way, and absolutely throbbing with power.

The demon spoke and her voice seemed to thrum deep inside their heads. “I’ve given you much. Your desires run deep. You've given me your children. What more can you offer?” The voice was sounded bored. Disinterested. 

Much to Sebastian's surprise, Anabel just walked right up to the demon. Sauntered up, actually “I don’t know, Ethel.” She said nonchalantly, looking at the fingernails on one hand. “At the Blooming Rose fifty silvers is standard for a whore.” 

Ethel? Sebastian looked at Varric in confusion. “She does that." The dwarf explained quietly. "Gives demons nicknames.”

The demon looked at her, seeming amused. “My name is Allure. And you’ll hardly find my services standard, little one.” She moved closer to Hawke tilting her head as she looked her over. 

Hawke just raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been up to all sorts of mischief here, haven’t you Ethel? And for quite some time now.” 

The demon frowned, seeming less amused now. “My name is Allure.” She repeated.

“Whatever.” Said Anabel and deliberately turned her back on the thing. It gave a little hiss of displeasure. 

Hawke looked carefully at Johane Harimann.. She looked drained somehow, malnourished almost. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor, and it seemed to be stretched too tightly over her bony features.

She was squinting at Hawke. “Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice was panicked. “How did you get here?” Sebastian stepped up to Anabel’s side, his face grim, and Lady Harimann's mouth fell open. “Sebastian?”

Fury rose up inside him. “How could you?” he managed to get out. “You were my mother’s friend. How could you murder her?”

Lady Harimann looked outraged at first and then confused. “Murder.” She repeated as if not quite understanding the word. 

Allure made a tsking noise. “Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘remove the only obstacle between her and her dreams.”

“We weren’t talking to you, Ethel.” Hawke snapped. She turned back to Lady Harimann. “Not just the Vaels though, was it? Your father as well. That was very ambitious of you and Ethel.” said Hawke. 

Lady Johane scoffed. “I didn’t need a demon for that. The old fool. Giving away our money to Fereldan dog lords. He was tough though. Even the Red Iron couldn’t get him. It turned out a simple poison in a cup of tea could.” She laughed, a cackling, unhealthy sound. 

“But Ethel helped you with the Vaels?” Hawke asked already sure of the answer.

Lady Harimann’s eyes went back to the demon. Fearful at first and then at a glance from the demon her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Yes.” She nodded slowly. “The Vaels. I needed her help with the Vaels."

Sebastian looked at the demon, the realization of Anabel's words hitting him. This was why his family was dead. Because of this Allure. This demon. “This was all your idea. Your fault. You did this.” He snarled at the creature, his rage all but overwhelming him. How had Anabel figured that out so quickly?

The demon shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by his accusation. “I could create such desires if I wished. But it’s far easier to nurture those which already exist. Everyone has a price. Everyone wants something.” She gave him a knowing look. She crossed to his side. “How different are you from my lady, really? You both yearn for the same things.”

He shook his head. “I am nothing like her.”

Allure smiled. “The desire for power is so easy to find. You and your…” Her eyes examined every inch of Anabel and she looked back at him with a knowing smile “You and your friend..." she put careful emphasis on the last word, "... both have it. You both wish to…” her eyes flickered to his crotch and her smile deepened as she met his eye. “…rise.” 

His cheeks darkened at the innuendo and the demon let out a low lascivious laugh, moving towards them. Sebastian stepped in front of Anabel, shielding her. Allure stopped directly in front of him. 

“Such a pious soul, masking such desires and ambitions.” She whispered in his ear. “You swore to put such things aside. But those vows can’t stop you from wanting, can they?”

Her voice seemed to mesmerize. “I am the rightful heir. She is a usurper and a murderer.” He was having trouble concentrating. His thoughts seemed muddled.

“You always wanted what your brother had. And now that seat is empty. Glittering. And all you have to do is kill anyone in your way.” Allure's voice seemed to be inside his head now. “And look what could be yours.” 

A white light flashed in Sebastian’s eyes and he shut them to block it out. When he opened them again he was in the throne room in Starkhaven, a sword in his hand. He looked at the men in front of him, the men responsible. The men who’d worked for Johane Harimann. Who’d killed his family. He looked at Goran, his face blotchy from crying, wringing his fat little hands, sobbing, denying he had anything to do with the murders, the crown of Starkhaven sitting crookedly on his head. “I just did what they told me.” Goran sobbed. “I don’t deserve to die for that.” 

Sebastian looked around the throne room. Bodies and blood were everywhere. His father and mother sprawled at the foot of the throne. His brothers, lying in a pools of their own blood. His sisters-in-law, their clothes in disarray, their bodies obviously violated before they’d been killed. The children lay in a pitiful heap, the younger ones with their throats slit. The older boys had tried to fight back, their bodies bearing many wounds. He saw the small hand of the babe, the little girl who’d been named after his grandmother Meghan, peeking out from beneath her older sister’s body. He was filled with white hot rage and he turned back to the usurper.

“And did they deserve to die, Goran?" He demanded, gesturing at the bodies. "Were you a true Vael you would have fought this injustice to the death!” He shouted. “You did not, and so you are no less guilty than the others. And you will share their fate.”

He straightened. “I, Sebastian Vael, Prince and ruler of Starkhaven find you guilty of the most heinous crime of the murder of the royal family of Starkhaven and of high treason against the throne, and do hereby condemn you to death. You shall be taken henceforth to a place of execution. And may the Maker have mercy on your soul.” 

He turned back to the throne which seemed to glitter in the light coming through the high windows. His parents' bodies, which had lain at the foot of it, were gone now. He paused, confused.

“Long live Prince Sebastian Vael, rightful ruler of Starkhaven!” Someone called out behind him, and the cry was echoed by hundreds of voices.

He turned around. The other bodies were gone as well, the throne room now packed with courtiers dressed in their finest. He looked down to find himself in coronation robes. 

The crowd parted as an object rolled towards Sebastian, coming to a stop at his feet. The crown of Starkhaven. He reached down and picked it up. He held it for a moment, and then lifted it up to place it on his head, but then he hesitated. He lowered it, looking at it carefully.

“Go on. It’s what you’ve wanted for so long.” He turned slowly to see Allure there. “You deserve it.” She trailed a hand down his cheek, slowly circling around him. 

The crowds had vanished, and the throne room and the coronation robes, leaving him in a simple shirt and trousers. It was just he and Allure, and the crown.

“I didn’t want it like this.” He said. “I didn’t want to kill to get it.” Something felt wrong. He looked at the crown again, and recoiled. “There’s blood on it.”

“There’s blood on all crowns if you look carefully enough.” Said Allure, with a hint of a smile. 

“But whose blood is this?” He tried to wipe it clean.

“Goran’s? Your father’s? King Ironfist who was slaughtered by the first Prince Vael?”

“Lord Vael was a man of peace. He gained the throne through nonviolent methods. Through prayer and diplomacy. Ironfist surrendered and left Starkhaven.” Said Sebastian with a frown.

Allure just laughed. “You think Ironfist was allowed to live? You’ve been in the Chantry for too long if you believe the ambitions of the Vaels would have permitted that. Do you think his blood doesn’t show because Lord Vael wasn’t the one actually holding the sword that killed him?”

That couldn’t be true. “The Vaels are men of peace. Good men.” He insisted. 

“So they say.” Smiled Allure. “But you’re a Vael, aren’t you? You with your ambition. With your desire to rule. Your desire for all the pleasures this world can offer.”

He stiffened at her words. “I gave all that up when I joined the Chantry.”

One long nail trailed along his throat. “But did you stop wanting them?” Allure whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to stop wanting them. You don’t have to deny who you truly are. You can be yourself.” Her breath was hot against his skin. “You can stop pretending. You don’t have to be good Brother Sebastian any longer. You are the Prince. No one tells the Prince what to do. You believed that once. Embraced it.” She moved in front of him. “I can give that to you again.”

He closed his eyes trying to shut out the memories of his transgressions. He had confessed. Received absolution. “But I’m not that man anymore. I haven’t been that man for years.” 

“No? Haven’t you been enjoying yourself just that way lately? Haven’t you felt alive in ways you haven’t for years? Haven’t you enjoyed parties and drinking and gambling, the way you used to?” 

His mind went to the card games, the celebrations he’d attended in the past few weeks. “It’s not the same.” He insisted.

“No?” she said with a sly smile. “And what of the other pleasures you’ve denied yourself for so long? Princes weren’t meant for chastity. Haven’t you wanted to feel a woman in your arms again? To feel her clutching around you? Haven’t you want to make her cry out when you plunge inside her? Haven’t you wanted to feel that release, that release that can make you forget everything?”

The words seemed to penetrate his confusion. Yes. He had used sex to forget. To forget that he was ‘the afterthought’ as his father liked to joke. To forget that he had no place in his family. No purpose. To forget that in spite of having no place he was expected to give up his life, to be a sacrifice so that the Vaels could have their obligatory daughter or son for the Chantry. To forget his life was not his own. Sex blotted that out, at least for a while. And when he stopped forgetting, when it all came back, there were always new partners to savor, new depravities to discover. And when he’d wake in the mornings, hung over, smelling of sex and sweat and alcohol and whatever potion or drug he’d recently discovered, with yet another stranger or strangers lying beside him, he would feel emptier than ever. He’d send them away without a thought for their feelings, and call them back again on the same whim when he wanted to forget again.

He shook his head, denying it. “No. I won’t use like people like that again. I haven’t wanted too. I’ve changed.”

The demon looked surprised. “No? You’re sure I can’t tempt you? The room was suddenly filled with scantily clad figures. Women and men. Tall and small. Slender and voluptuous. Brunettes and blondes. Humans and elves. All looking at him with desire. All willing. All beautiful. 

He considered them. Yes they were lovely. Desirable. But he could control his desire for them. He felt nothing for them. He didn’t want that sort of encounter. “I don’t want them.” He found it easy to say, and a smile came to his face. He felt as if he had passed a test. 

“None of them?” Her voice was faintly mocking.

“No.” he said more firmly.

“And what of her?” Allure asked innocently pointing behind him.

He turned to look where she’d indicated. The others seemed to fade away, revealing Anabel standing there. Where the others had been scantily clad, she was in the dark green leathers he’d first seen her in. She looked up at him and smiled and he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the warmth in her eyes. 

He looked back at the demon who was smiling in satisfaction. “You want her, don’t you? You want to have her. Use her like the others. I can give you that.”

Maker, yes, he wanted her. But not to use. Not like that. Not like the others. “She’s not like the others.” He insisted.

“You don’t think so?” she said walking towards Anabel. Allure waved a hand and Anabel’s leathers were gone, and instead she was clad in a diaphanous silk gown of a startling scarlet that seemed to reveal as much as it concealed, glimpses of pale curves white beneath the red silk. Allure moved behind Anabel, who seemed unaware of the demon, even when she reached up and pulled a pin out of Anabel’s hair. Those magnificent curls tumbled down around her to her waist. He couldn’t stop himself from moving forwards, moving to stand in front of her. He plunged his hands into her hair tilting her face up to look at him. Her features were subtly enhanced by cosmetics, something he’d never seen her wear. Her lips were painted a lush red, the blue green of her eyes lined in black, giving her eyes an exotic almost cat-like appearance. Her cheeks were faintly pink. It was a more sophisticated Anabel, one he hadn’t seen before. She didn’t blush or look away, and he saw his own desire reflected in her eyes. Was it truly her? Unable to help himself, he bent his head and kissed her gently, savoring the feel of her mouth. Anabel. She tasted just as she had that day on the Wounded Coast. Her lips immediately parted under his and he grabbed her, pulling her closer, kissing her harder. One hand slipped through the folds of her gown, and he felt the velvety warmth of her skin. 

“You can have her. I can give her to you. A woman you want. You can do all those things you’ve missed doing so much. She can do all those things you’ve missed so much.” Allure was still at his side whispering in his ears and he pulled back suddenly. He looked more closely at the girl in his arms.

Anabel smiled and stepped back a step, and lifting her hand slipped the silk gown off first one shoulder, and then the other, stepping gracefully out of the pool of silk that landed at her feet. Before he could fully take in her naked form she’d stepped closer and parted the fabric of his shirt. She ran her small hands over his chest, raking her nails lightly through his chest hair, before leaning forward and pressing her mouth against his skin. His eyes closed and he barely held back a groan, feeling himself grow hard at her touch. Her mouth traveled down and he felt her slide to her knees in front of him, her breath hot against him.

He opened his eyes again. The table of whips and manacles, and the bench they’d seen earlier in Ruxton’s room were suddenly behind Anabel’s kneeling form. Allure moved idly to the table and lifted a flogger, letting the strips of leather slide through her fingers. “You don’t have to pretend anymore Sebastian. I can give her to you. You can do whatever you want to her.” Her arm lashed out suddenly, bringing the flogger down on Anabel’s back. Anabel cried out, her back arching in pain.

“No!” he shouted. 

Allure just smiled at him. “But she likes it. Look.”

He glanced down to find Anabel staring up at him, her eyes filled with desire. She licked her lips in a lascivious way and spoke for the first time. “Hurt me.” She whispered. There was a hardness in her voice that was utterly alien to the girl he knew.

He pulled back in horror. “No. That’s not her.”

“It could be.” Said Allure.

“No.” He shook his head denying it.

Allure’s brow arched. “You don’t think so? You don’t think her capable of such things? But that’s what I offer you, foolish boy. Anything you want to do to her. Anything you can imagine. Any depravity you’ve committed. I can make her want that. I can make her love it. I can take her and make her your perfect match. I can make her just like you.” 

_Just like you._

Allure suddenly cried out and jerked back her head, her hand going to her cheek. The room around them vanished. They were still in the ruins under the Harimann house.

Sebastian looked around startled. He was once again in his armor and Anabel had pushed him aside and stood directly in front of Allure. There was a vivid handprint on the demon's cheek and she looked stunned. Varric, Fenris and Anders were staring at Anabel in awe. 

Anabel was scowling at the demon. “It’s time to end you.” She pulled out her daggers, but before she could attack, her whole body stiffened. A myriad of emotions passed across her face and Sebastian could see the muscle in her jaw clenching and realized that the demon was in Anabel’s mind now, showing her her own desires, no doubt twisting them as his had been and his fury overcame his fear. He quickly released two arrows in succession, catching the Allure in her side. She shrieked in anger. He saw Hawke shudder, released from the demon's control. She shook her head as if to clear it and then looked absolutely furious. “Oh, Ethel. You just made a big mistake.” She said, her eyes narrowing. She whirled around and sank her daggers into the demon’s back. Allure shrieked again and they were suddenly surrounded. Shades, corpses, lesser demons.

He saw Johane Harimann raise a dagger and slice her arm open. The blood seemed to dissipate in a cloud around her and the skeletons at her feet pulled together and came to life. Not just a mage, he realized. A blood mage. He fired arrows one after another. 

Anabel ran at her, flipping over her and landing behind her, striking her with a flurry of quick blows, preventing her from casting another spell. Lady Harimann fell to her knees and he watched as Anabel drew a dagger swiftly across the woman’s throat. Johane’s eyes widened and she made a gurgling sound blood gushing from her neck, before she fell lifeless to the ground. Sebastian turned around just as Fenris swung his broadsword, separating Allure’s head from her body. The last group of shades disappeared with a screech, consumed by one of Anders’ fire spells. 

Sebastian’s eyes were bleak as they looked down at the broken body of Johane Harriman. He had to get out of here. Out of this basement. Out of this house. “We should return to the Chantry. I must pray for her soul.” He could feel Anabel’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t face her. Couldn’t face what he would do to her if he continued to pursue her. 

_I can make her just like you_. 

The words seemed to echo in his head. 

He quickly left the chamber, hearing the others follow.

They reached the wine cellar and found Flora Harimann walking quickly towards them. She saw Sebastian and seemed to slump in relief. “Sebastian.” Tears filled her eyes. “I am so…sorry seems such an inadequate word. When I think what mother did. What those creatures made us do.” Her voice trailed off.

“We were friends Flora.” He sounded angry, he knew. He knew it was in no way her fault. But she was here, and willing to take the blame.

Her lip trembled at the barely controlled fury in his voice, but she continued. “It was like a cloud came down and all I could think or feel was what the demon allowed.”

He shuddered, remembering all too well.

“Did your mother order the attack on Sebastian’s family?” asked Hawke.

Flora turned to the younger woman. She knew her by sight, but they’d never met. She’d seen her dancing with Sebatian at the ball for the Orlesian ambassador. “Yes. She did.” She turned back to Sebastian, wanting to explain, wanting to try to make him understand. “You know mother, Sebastian. She was always jealous of your family. The demon twisted that until it was all she could think about.” Her eyes were pleading with him to forgive her.

“It’s a demon of desire Flora, not a demon of coercion. It can’t tempt you with anything you don’t truly want!” 

_I can make her just like you._

He hadn’t changed. Given the opportunity he would become that same dissolute degenerate he’d been in his youth. Using people how ever he wanted. 

_You don’t have to pretend anymore_.

Anabel looked at the Prince, a worried frown crinkling her brow. She wondered what the demon had shown him that was affecting him so. She turned back to Flora. “The demons are gone now. But I’m sorry: Your mother is dead as well.”

Flora eyes filled with tears as she looked back at her. “My mother has been dead for some time. I don’t know what that thing was, but it wasn’t my mother. The things we did…” 

Hawke crossed quickly to her. “You are not to blame here, Flora. This was the demon’s doing.”

“Thank you. But I’m not sure everyone else will be as forgiving.” She looked at Sebastian, knowing her childish dream of him was irrevocably gone. “Sebastian, if it takes the rest of my life I will make this up to you. And if you need aid when you reclaim Starkhaven...” Her voice trailed off.

Sebastian couldn’t be angry with her any more. “I’ll let you know.” He said bleakly. 

They left the Harimann’s mansion and parted ways in the Chantry plaza, Anabel to report the events to the Guard Captain, and Sebastian to return to the Chantry to pray for Lady Harimann’s soul. And his own.


	8. I'm Giving It All Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke talks with Sebastian about their experiences in the ruins under the Harimann's home. Sebastian realizes something about Hawke that helps him reach a decision about his future, and is surprised by Elthina's reaction to the news.

It was late afternoon by the time Hawke was able to return to the Chantry. She’d met with Aveline, returned to the Harimann’s with her, and then returned back to the Keep to update the Seneschal on the situation. Apparently you couldn’t kill a Hightown noble without a fuss being made, even if said noble was a murderous bitch and practicing blood mage. Seneschal Bran had been quietly horrified as he’d listened to the Guard Captain’s report, all the while giving Hawke looks that seemed to imply the whole thing had somehow been her fault. Much time had been spent trying to decide how best to contain the situation. When Anabel had commented sarcastically that it was so much more convenient when the blood mages were nobodies from Lowtown or the Undercity, she had very quickly been informed that she’d done quite enough to help, thank you very much, and her presence was no longer required. Thank the Maker. She’d finally been able to go home and clean up. A bath, and a clean set of leathers and she felt like a new woman.

Now she could finally check on Sebastian. He hadn’t spoken a word after they’d left Flora Harimann, beyond a brief thank you when they’d parted company at the Chantry steps. Something was troubling him, something beyond Johane Harimann’s betrayal and blood magic, something that demon had shown him.

Fucking demons, Hawke thought with a scowl, as she pushed through the Chantry door, remembering too late to not let it slam shut behind her. She winced as the sound echoed through the Chantry. One of the sisters looked over and glared at her.

“Sorry.” She said with an apologetic smile. The sister just frowned disapprovingly and turned back to what she’d been doing.

Well she was just making friends all over today, wasn’t she? She spotted the Grand Cleric farther back in the nave and moved quickly towards her. She’d know where Sebastian was. Elthina looked up as Hawke approached her, and a smile spread across her kindly face.

“Hawke.” She walked over to meet her, her hands outstretched. 

“Your Grace.” She said with a smile. Elthina was always so warm. Not at all what she would have thought the Grand Cleric of the Free Marches would be. She could easily understand why Sebastian loved her so much.

Elthina took her hands in her own. “How can I ever thank you enough for what you’ve done? Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for not letting his be the hand that dealt the final blow.” 

“I’m just glad I was able to assist.” She hesitated for a moment. “Is he all right? He seemed a bit rattled when we parted.” 

“Understandably. It’s overwhelming for him, to finally know for certain who was responsible for his family’s murder, and to have justice meted out to them. He’s been praying, but I’m sure he’d like to talk to you. To thank you. Come, I’ll take you to him.” She led Hawke through the Chantry. 

Hawke looked at her thoughtfully as they walked. “May I ask you something?” Elthina’s words had stirred a memory.

“Of course, child.” 

“The first time we met, you seemed dead set against Sebastian’s pursuing the Flint Company Mercenaries. Didn’t he deserve justice for his family?” 

Elthina frowned. She couldn’t recall the subject having coming up that day Leandra and Hawke had come to the Chantry. Hawke was looking up at her expectantly, and Elthina was struck once again by what beautiful eyes she had. The way the blue and green seemed almost swirled together was truly remarkable, she thought, and suddenly she remembered. All those years ago. The young girl, wearing the shabby ill-fitting armor and the too large leather cap. She stopped walking and stared at her. “It was you that day. That day Sebastian foreswore his vows.” How had she not realized that before now?

Hawke gave her an easy smile. “Yes. I wasn’t certain you remembered.” 

Elthina was looking at her in surprise. “I didn’t until just now.” She admitted. She resumed walking. “You should have told me we’d met before.” How could she not have seen it? Of course Hawke was a woman now, a beautiful and elegant woman, even in leather trousers. The first time she’d seen her she’d thought she was a boy, until she’d spoken. 

“Well, we didn’t exactly meet. And I wasn’t sure you wanted to be reminded of that day. It upset you.”

“It was a difficult day. He had such a gift. Had been so happy to serve. So happy as a brother. And then he renounced his vows and threw it all away.” She glanced back at the girl. “But you asked if Sebastian’s family deserve justice? The answer is yes, of course they did. But there’s a fine line between justice and vengeance which can destroy a man once it’s crossed.” 

Hawke shivered, suddenly thinking not of Sebastian, but of Anders. “Yes.” She said nodding slowly. “I believe that.” She spotted Sebastian leaning on the railing of the Chancel, deep in thought or prayer. He was still in his armor, she noted with concern. Had he been praying this whole time? Had what the demon showed him disturbed him so badly? “Sebastian wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he had crossed that line, would he?” she murmured, not taking her eyes from him.

Elthina watched the girl as she looked at Sebastian. “No, he wouldn’t have. And once his initial anger had subsided, he agreed that his request for aid should be removed from the Chanter’s Board. He agreed that the Maker would see that the men responsible were punished.” She smiled gently at Hawke. “Neither of us knew that someone had already seen the notice. And I only learned this morning that it was you who took care of the Flint Company. That you were the tool the Maker used.” 

Hawke laughed at the thought. “I’m hardly that. I was just looking for work. It seemed a worthy cause and…” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at Sebastian. He looked so troubled. 

“And?” Prompted Elthina.

Anabel looked back at Elthina her concern plain on her face. “He was hurting. Underneath all that righteous anger, all those demands for vengeance. And he was in danger. It was only a matter of time before they came after him too.” She turned back to Sebastian, not realizing how her face softened when she looked at him. “I couldn’t not do anything.” 

She genuinely cared for him, the Grand Cleric realized again. And it was plain Sebastian returned the affection. But to what extent? Elthina had been trying to decide the significance of Hawke’s being the one who’d taken out Flint Company since she’d discovered it. How could Sebastian not have told her? He had been so confused by his attraction to that woman. _‘When our hands touched…it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before’_ , he’d confessed to her. She’d dismissed it as an emotionally muddled effect of the news about the Flint Company, and had tried to convince Sebastian of the same. And then in the following months he’d mentioned other women. She’d been so worried by that. Worried he would revert to his old ways. To know that two of those women were in fact the same woman was something of a relief. But was there more to it than simple attraction? She became aware of Hawke all but fidgeting with impatience beside her. “Go to him, Hawke. Speak with him.” 

Hawke gave her a grateful smile and ran lightly up the stairs. Sebastian had his back to her, his arms resting on the stone railing, but as if he could sense her there he turned to face her as she approached. His eyes were troubled. 

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He looked away again. No. He really wasn’t. “I thought prayer would cleanse me of the desire demon’s touch. But it hasn’t.” he said, still unable to look at her without seeing what the demon had shown him. He felt her walk up next to him.

Anabel put her hand gently on his arm. “Sebastian, you did nothing wrong.” She sounded so certain. He turned his head. Her hair was still damp, making it look darker than usual, and worn in a loose braid tied at the end with one of her red ribbons. She had bathed and changed clothing since they’d parted, and he suddenly wished he’d done the same. Her fair skin almost glowed in the candlelight, and her beautiful eyes were filled with concern for him. She looked young and fresh and innocent. Perfect. He felt aged and corrupt and unclean just standing beside her.

He turned away again. “You didn’t see what the demon showed me, Anabel. I feel as though I’ve bathed in filth that will never come off.” He confessed bitterly.

There was a brief pause before she suggested. “Try washing behind the ears. Evil usually gets stuck there.” 

He turned his head, startled by her words. She had a gently teasing smile on her lips. He couldn’t help but return it. She could joke about anything, it seemed. “Is there nothing you hold sacred?” he asked shaking his head, though the smile remained.

“Oh, many things. My friends, love, laughter. You have to be able to laugh. If you don’t then the bad guys have already won.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious. “Tell me what troubles you so.” 

Where to even begin? “The demon wasn’t wrong you know. I used to envy my brothers. I coveted that throne. I thought I was smarter, more charming, more deserving of it. And now they lie in ashes.”

“Through no fault of yours.” She pointed out. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the railing, looking out at the Chantry as she spoke. “When my father was training Bethany, he used to say that the reason demons were so successful was that they used our truest desires to tempt us. They found those deep dark longings and fears that you didn’t show to anyone, didn’t even show yourself sometimes, and pulled them out to dangle them in front of you.”

He shuddered, thinking of his vision. She saw the movement but didn’t remark on it, just continued speaking.

“But Da said that if you looked carefully, there was always a note that rang false.” She looked sideways at him. “I could be wrong, but I imagine she showed you something about Starkhaven? About taking the throne?”

An image of the Anabel from his vision, naked, kneeling at his feet, pressing her lips against him, flashed before his eyes. “Something like that.” He said. 

“And was there something that seemed untrue?”

He thought of the way he had treated poor Goran in the vision, condemning him to death for something he had no part in. He would never do that. He looked again at the woman in front of him, watching him with such earnestness. Brave, good, kind, always putting others at ease, putting others first, and he thought of the Anabel in his vision, the hardness in her eyes, in her voice, how she begged him to hurt her. “Yes. Many things, now that I think of it.” he admitted. 

She nodded at him, unsurprised. “They don’t understand humanity, not really. They can pull snatches of emotions, of memories from our minds but they don’t get it quite right. Something’s always off.”

The despair he’d felt since he’d returned began to ease. A verse from the Chant suddenly sprang into his head and before he could stop himself he said it out loud. 

“ _The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil_  
 _And grew jealous of the life_  
 _They could not feel, could not touch._  
 _In blackest envy were the demons born._ ”

“That’s it exactly. They’re jealous of us. Of the way we get to live. The world we have. Was that from the Chant of Light?” She asked.

“Yes. The Canticle of Erudition. Chapter 2, verse 1.”

She looked impressed. “What an awful lot you know. You must have had all manner of tutors and scholars at your disposal growing up.”

“I did, Andraste pity them. I was a difficult student.”

“I would have loved to have tutors and books. But that’s probably because I didn’t have them. People never really appreciate what they’ve got until it’s not around anymore.”

“I still owe you a visit to the Chantry library.” He remembered.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, don’t you worry. You’re not getting out of that promise.” She warned him. “You should have a bath. Put some clean clothes on. I felt a hundred times better after I did.” She waggled a finger in front of him. “And don’t neglect behind the ears. Evil…”

He cut her off with a teasing grin. “Evil gets stuck there. So I’ve heard.” She smiled and pushed away from the railing, intending to leave, but was stopped by his calling her name. She turned her head.

“What did the demon show you?” he asked curiously.

Her mind flashed back: the demon’s assuring her that Sebastian wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Of Sebastian crossing suddenly to her, as he had that day on the Wounded Coast, yanking her into his arms, not stopping at a kiss this time. Easing her onto her back, right here on the floor of the Chantry, tearing open her shirt, pressing his mouth against her breasts and belly, unbuttoning her trousers and yanking them over her hips, trailing his mouth down between her thighs. The demon taking the form of Elthina, kneeling next to them assuring her that she could make Sebastian forswear his vows, make him her slave. She shook her head to dismiss it, her cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, the usual unobtainable things. Power, love. But Ethel got it wrong with me as well. Once you realize that it’s easier to break free.” 

She was so strong, he thought, wondering why he hadn’t realized it before. Intelligent, brave, skilled, beautiful, yes, all of those things, but he’d never quite realized her strength until today. 

“Just remember, whatever Ethel showed you, she can’t make you do it. No demon can.” She tilted her head in question. “Does it help with your decision? Knowing those responsible have been found and punished?”

“I thought that it would. Hoped that it would.” He still didn’t know.

“Elthina seems quite set on your staying in the Chantry. That can’t make it easy.”

He ran his hands through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know she is. I have such doubt in my heart, Anabel. I honestly don’t know what to do. It can’t be right to take an army to Starkhaven, to ask men to give up their lives in my cause, when I myself am uncertain if it’s the right choice. But I still consider it. And how can I renew my vows, when still concerned with such worldly power?”

Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “It’s kind of reassuring to see you floundering and confused. It’s nice to see you’re human.” 

He groaned in response. “All too human, I’m afraid."

“But that’s a good thing!” She insisted. “It’s not a matter of making a wrong or a right decision. It’s just a choice. You have a true gift for helping people, Sebastian. Whether you use that as a prince, or as a priest you will do good.” She put her hand on his chest, her eyes steady and reassuring. “Follow your heart. It won’t mislead you.” 

He looked down into those eyes and felt some of his turmoil ease. She offered no pressure, just her own unwavering belief in his judgment. In him. Just him. Not Sebastian the Prince, or Sebastian the Priest. Just Sebastian. He took her hand from over his chest and pressed a kiss on the back of it. “You put my heart at ease, Anabel Hawke. You’re a true friend.” 

“As are you.” She looked at him, warmth and affection radiating from her.

She was so lovely. He let go of her hand, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her face. To feel that velvet soft skin. Unbidden the vision of her naked and pressed against him flashed through his mind. Desire for her flared through him. He closed his eyes briefly, willing it away, before he straightened resolutely. “Well, it’s not something that will be decided today in any case. As I said before, if you have need of my services I’ll be here.”

Relief flooded through her. She’d been afraid that she’d lose him, that he’d take refuge in the Chantry or run off to save Starkhaven, that this friendship which had become so important to her, so quickly would vanish. Unable to help herself she stepped forward and slipped her arms around him giving him a hug as freely as she would any of her other friends. He hesitated a moment before returning the embrace.

 _Maker,_ she thought. _How could being held by someone feel so absolutely perfect?_ She pulled back to look up at him. _Friends, Anabel. Just friends. He’s not yours to have._ She couldn’t help the smile on her face, though. “Oh, I can think of lots of services for you to perform.” She said, her voice a little breathless, running her tongue over her suddenly dry lips.

Sebastian’s hands dropped from around her and he took a step back. For just a moment her face had looked exactly as it had in the vision. _I can take her and make her your perfect match. I can make her just like you._ Allure's voice echoed through his mind. What if he was already doing it. Corrupting her. Making her like him. He couldn’t let that happen. “Anabel, you know I have my vows. It’s not appropriate.” he said firmly.

She looked utterly confused. “What?” What had she said to make him look like that? She remembered, realized how it must have sounded, and turned bright pink. “Oh, Maker. Sebastian, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry. I should just not be allowed to speak, you know that about me.” She sounded like an idiot, she knew.

Sebastian’s frown deepened, making her even more incoherent. 

“I didn’t mean services services. I just meant services. Things you can do with me.” Crap, that was worse. “For me.” She corrected. Shit, that was worse still. “Things you can help me out with. Jobs, I mean. I wouldn’t…I don’t want…” But that was a lie. She did want. She blushed even pinker, and suddenly couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m sorry. I need to go. I forgot something I was supposed to do. Someone I was supposed to meet. For a thing.” She turned towards the stairs.

“Anabel.” He called after her.

“I’ll see you later.” She called over her shoulder and fled down the stairs. She was out the doors almost before Sebastian had fully processed what she’d said.

For a moment he stood there as confused as she’d seemed to be. She’d been positively babbling at the end, apparently horrified by his assumption. But he’d just responded to her inappropriate comment, hadn’t he? He ran over the conversation in his mind. _If you have need of my services_. He closed his eyes when he realized his mistake. She was just responding to what he’d said. If anyone had been inappropriate he had. “You blithering idiot,” he said out loud. 

“Hawke left very suddenly. Is everything all right?” He turned to find Elthina standing there, a concerned expression on her face. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how best to remedy the mess he’d just made. “Yes, your Grace. Just a slight misunderstanding.” He needed to speak with her. Apologize. 

Elthina couldn’t help smiling at how flustered he seemed. “She’s a rather disconcerting young lady, isn’t she?” 

“To put it mildly. Excuse me your Grace. I should change and help prepare for evening services.” He winced a little at the word. 

Elthina watched as he went down the stairs. She’d shamelessly watched them as they’d spoken. Watched as Hawke had soothed him, made him smile. Had seen the obvious affection between them. She didn’t think either of them was aware of just how strong it was. She didn’t know what it meant for Sebastian, but its existence couldn’t be denied. She would pray to Andraste for guidance on the matter. 

 

As Sebastian went down the stairs, a flash of red caught his eye. He bent down, recognizing the ribbon that had been tied at the end of Anabel’s long braid. He picked it up and put it in his pocket, smiling a little as he continued walking. Those hair ribbons. It was a pity that she’d never had girlish things growing up, that she’d been forced to hide herself that way. He wondered yet again why her father had denied her that. She should have been able to wear pretty dresses, to be the center of attention at country dances, to have admirers. She hadn’t had any of that growing up.

And then he stopped. 

She'd been absolutely horrified when he'd assumed she was propositioning him. So horrified that she'd fled. He remembered her reaction to Ruxton Harriman and his perversions this morning. The way her mouth had fallen open in shock, how round her eyes had been. How she’d fled the room when she’d realized the purpose of all those toys.

What had she said? 

_It’s one thing to read about it in Isabela’s books, but to just have it right there in front of you…at least now I’ll have an accurate picture in my mind._ As if she’d never seen anything like it.

The frown deepened. No. He had to be mistaken. She couldn’t be. She was twenty-three years old, for the Maker’s sake. 

She couldn’t be innocent.

Could she?

No. He thought of her traipsing about Varric’s rooms half-dressed, and nonchalantly spending the night in his bed. Of her air of sophistication, her off the cuff references to the Blooming Rose, her casual brushing aside of Isabela’s less than subtle sexual advances. He’d just assumed, given her lifestyle. It honestly didn’t matter to him in the least; he was the last person to judge someone on the basis of their sexual experience. But he’d assumed she was.

Assumed, like Brendan. Like the other nobles of Hightown.

What if she wasn’t? 

He tried to dismiss the thought. At her age? Someone who looked like her?

He remembered how hesitantly she’d responded to his kiss that day on the Wounded Coast, almost as if she weren’t used to kisses.

It couldn’t be. He tried to deny it, but the more he thought about it the more likely it seemed.

Hawke was a virgin.

Allure’s promises suddenly seemed all the more horrifying. _I can make her just like you. I can make her your perfect match._ The demon was gone, destroyed. But what if he didn't need the demon's help to turn Anabel into the woman in his vision? What if he could do it all on his own? 

He felt suddenly ill at the thought.

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t take that chance.

And then the decision that he had wavered about for so long was obvious. Easy.

He would stay in the Chantry where his vows would keep him from corrupting her, using her for his own base pleasures. It was best, safest for everyone. 

Yes. It was for the best. And he’d wanted that life once. That life of prayer and contemplation. Part of him still wanted it. A life free of all the complications that passions brought. He wouldn’t be without her that way. He would still be able to see her. Still be able to watch over her. Take care of her. Make sure no one else took advantage of her. But the temptation would be taken away if he was a priest, his vows would serve as a shield between them. 

Yes. He’d arrange to speak to Elthina in the morning. 

 

Varric was already telling the story of the demons in Hightown to an enthralled audience when Hawke sauntered into the Hanged Man. So much for Bran and Aveline’s plans on keeping it quiet, she thought, with an amused smiled, as he spun the tale, already more enthralling and ridiculous than what had actually occurred. He finished and the crowd dispersed, staring at her in awe as they passed by.

He looked up at her as she approached and grinned. “I still can’t believe you bitch-slapped a demon, Hawke. This is why I stick with you. You can’t make this stuff up.” 

Hawke shrugged. “She pissed me off.” She placed the bow she carried on the table in front of him. “What do you think of this Varric? Is it any good? Worth keeping?”

Varric’s hands ran over the bow admiringly. “It’s a work of art Hawke.” He looked at her. “Where’d you find it?”

“In the Harimann’s basement when I went back with Aveline.”

“Thinking of taking up a real weapon?”

“I thought perhaps Sebastian might find it useful.” She admitted. She wanted to do something to make up for her blunder this afternoon.

Varric, who had been examining the bow more carefully, looked up, wondering at the uncertainty in her voice. “More than you might think.” He said. He pointed out a mark on the bow. “See that?”

Hawke peered more closely at it. “Is that the Starkhaven crest?” She asked. “That bitch. She kept a Starkhaven bow?”

“Workmanship like this? I’d say it belonged to one of the royals.” 

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Thanks Varric.” She gathered up the bow and left. Varric looked after her. An interesting chapter was beginning for Hawke it seemed. The prince? A little bland. Too serene. Too content. His character would need some work. He’d have to talk more to the guy. See what he could unearth. Make something up if he needed to.

 

The evening service was just ending when Anabel returned to the Chantry. She stayed in the back, listening to the chant. It was beautiful. Calming. She closed her eyes, leaning against the back wall. Maker, she was exhausted. By anyone’s standards this had qualified as a long day. The chant finished, and the closing prayer began. Once it was done, and all these people cleared out, she’d find Sebastian and set things straight.

“Serrah Hawke. I was wondering when I would see you again.” She turned to find Brother Plinth standing in front of her, a delighted smile on his face.

“Brother Plinth.” She said with genuine pleasure. The archivist looked exactly the same, right down to the comical tufts of white hair over his ears. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“I see you’ve taken up archery.” He said gesturing to the bow she carried. “Are you going to practice here? I’ve often thought the length of the nave would do very well for target practice.”

She laughed out loud, earning her several reprimanding looks. “No. It’s a gift for Sebastian actually.”

“Very practical. It’ll help keep all those pesky females away from him.” 

Her mouth twitched with laughter again, but she managed to contain it this time. Brother Plinth seemed to have gotten even more eccentric in the two years since she’d seen him. “And how is Sister Plinth doing?” She asked. The final prayer had finished, and people began to stream out the doors.

He seemed pleased she’d asked. “She’s very well. Very well indeed. She’s got her own little chapel now. She’s all cleaned up and properly displayed. She’ll be thrilled you asked after her.” 

“Well, she deserves a nice place after all those years in Darktown.” 

“Indeed she does.” 

Anabel looked around wondering where Sebastian might be hiding. 

“He’s helping put away the prayer books.” Said Brother Plinth.

“Excuse me?”

“Brother Sebastian. You wanted to give him the bow.”

“I did.” She gave the old man an appreciative glance. “If only everyone were as direct as you, Brother Plinth. Kirkwall would run much more smoothly.”

He scoffed. “I doubt it. It’s not enough to be direct. People have to be willing listen to you as well. Your young man should be just up the stairs on the left.” He looked intently at her. “I should like it very much if you’d come and visit me.” He said after a moment.

She smiled at him. “I’d love to. Perhaps you could show me the library one day. Brother Sebastian keeps intending to, but he hasn’t managed it yet.” 

“Young men, my dear. Wholly unreliable. You come and see me. I’ll show you all manner of interesting things.” He looked startled. “Goodness that could be taken in quite the wrong way, couldn’t it?”

She just laughed. “It seems to be the day for such statements. I’ll come see you soon. I promise.” She moved quickly towards the stairs he’d indicated.

Brother Plinth looked up as the Grand Cleric joined him. “She’s a marvelously interesting girl, isn’t she?”

Elthina smiled, knowing this was high praise indeed from him. “She is.” Elthina agreed. “I wasn’t aware the two of you had met.”

“We’ve known each other for years. Ever since she brought Sister Plinth back home.”

Elthina’s eyes closed. As soon as she’d seen Hawke with the archivist she’d suspected as much. The third woman that Sebastian had confessed inappropriate feelings for. Hawke. Again. 

What did the demon tempt you with, she’d asked Sebastian when he’d returned from the Harimann’s. He’d looked away and muttered “women”. A half-truth, she now realized. She suspected it had been one very specific woman. One he had been attracted to for years. One who kept appearing and reappearing at crucial moments in his life. Sebastian had asked to speak with Elthina in the morning. She would be bringing up the subject of Anabel Hawke.

 

Sebastian was stacking the prayers books in the cupboard when Hawke walked up. She seemed nervous, and he could hardly blame her after the way he’d reacted earlier. He smiled, wanting to put her at ease.

“Anabel. This is a nice surprise. Did you attend the service?” 

That smile. It made her weak at the knees. All her carefully planned speeches fled from her brain. “No. I wanted to give you something.” She thrust out the bow she was carrying. “Here.” She said awkwardly.

He took it automatically and recognized it immediately. “My grandfather’s bow! But where? How?” He looked up at her, stunned. He’d never thought to see it again.

She smiled, pleased by his reaction. “One of the Flint Company men did some looting. I thought I’d return the favor.” 

His hands ran over it. “Oh, Anabel. You have no idea what this means to me.” 

Whatever awkwardness had happened seemed to be behind them. “Is there a story behind it?” she asked.

His hands ran over it. “Indeed. I was the youngest son, you know that. As so, it was my job to lead the militia. But I never had a talent for sword play – too much getting hit.” His eyes twinkled as he said it.

“I might be able to help you out there. I think the point is actually not to get hit.” She laughed at the exasperated look he gave her.

“Yes, thank you, Mistress Sass. Strangely enough, I was aware of that. That’s far easier for those fortunate enough to have been trained by Antivan acrobats.” He couldn’t help smiling at her, before his attention returned to the bow in his hand. He could see his grandfather holding it in his hands, showing it to him. “My grandfather used to say the bow is the wise man’s weapon: you can defend your city without opening the gates. He told me when I could string it on my own, it would be mine.”

“How is it you didn’t have it with you then?”

“I was only thirteen when he made that promise. By the time I was able, he had passed away, and my father was disinclined to let me, the youngest have such a fine weapon. He didn’t even use it himself. He kept it displayed in the throne room.” He’d been so angry with his father. At fifteen he had been old enough to feel the sting of being told he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t deserve his Grandfather’s bow, simply because he was the youngest son. He remembered that day so well. It had been the first time he’d gone to a tavern and gotten utterly drunk, just for the sake of getting drunk. The start of a dark path for him. 

To have the bow returned now seemed like a benediction from the man he had worked so hard to emulate. Yes. Renewing his vows was the right decision. He could serve the Maker, and still be there for Anabel. He felt like his grandfather was looking down on him and smiling.

How strange that Anabel had been the one to give it to him. His eyes were drawn to the chain of locket that he knew lay nestled between her breasts. His grandmother’s locket. His grandfather’s bow. There was a symmetry there. A pleased smile came to his face as he looked back at her.

She looked suddenly uncertain. “Look, about before. I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I actually just needed your services – help, I mean.” Maker’s ass. She was never going to be able to use that word again without thinking of Sebastian performing…services. 

He put a reassuring hand on her arm. “It’s I who should apologize. I sometimes get some very peculiar offers. I misinterpreted what you were saying, and overreacted quite spectacularly. Will you forgive me?” 

She stared stupidly into those blue eyes. _Anything_ , she thought. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She said firmly. For a moment they just smiled at each other, unable to look away. _Say something_ , she thought. “So. Want to trek up a mountain tomorrow and meet some hostile elves?” she asked.

He laughed out loud. “Very much indeed.” 

“Fenris and I will swing by early in the morning to pick you up, sometime after first service?” 

He smiled at her. “I’ll be ready.”

She smiled back at him, before turning and running down the stairs, singing under her breath. 

 

Elthina frowned severely at the young man in front of her. She had been prepared to discuss Hawke with him, but before she been able open her mouth, Sebastian had boldly announced he was renewing his vows, becoming a brother once again. She’d stared at him for a moment and then surprised him by asking simply, why?

He’d looked stunned by the question, but quickly began spouting on about Lady Harimann’s death being justice, life could go back to what it was before. He just wanted to stay in the Chantry and serve the Maker and Andraste. That was the life he wanted. 

Not a word about Starkhaven. Not a word about his family. Not a word about Hawke. “And what of your duty as prince of Starkhaven that’s weighed so heavily on you these past few years?” Elthina asked sternly.

Sebastian brushed it aside. “It doesn’t matter. I’m giving it all up! I made a vow to the chantry and it was wrong to turn my back. I don’t want it any more. I just want things back the way they were before all of this. I have no desire to be part of the intrigues and politics. I don’t want the temptation.” 

Her ears pricked at the word. Temptation. That was what was behind this sudden decision. He was afraid. Afraid of sliding back into his former lifestyle. She looked away. This was her fault. When he’d confessed about those women she’d lectured and cautioned and warned. If she’d known it wasn’t ‘women’, if she’d known it was only Hawke, her response would have been quite different. She had failed him, and here he was now, wanting to rejoin the Chantry, not out of a desire to serve, but a desire to hide. If she let him do this, he would regret it, and sooner rather than later. “I’m sorry Sebastian. But no.”

The smile faded from his face. He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“Sebastian! Listen to yourself. You’re as impulsive now as the day you turned away from us. Do you think the Maker wants another rashly spoken vow that you’ll abandon when the next passion takes you?"

Sebastian flushed at the implication. “I will not…”

Elthina cut him off. “This is your life child. Don’t spend it being blown about like a weathervane.” 

He opened his mouth to retort but stopped, his eye caught by something behind her.

She turned to see Hawke coming up the stairs. Of course. The girl fairly glowed with color, in a vivid turquoise shirt her abundant red curls held back by a brightly patterned scarf. She was smiling at Sebastian, her affection for him unhidden. “And here’s Hawke.” She said softly to him. For just a split second she saw the naked longing in his eyes before he quickly hid it again. She turned to Anabel. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into him,” she said as she walked past her and left them alone.

“I’m not sure sense is my strong suit.” Said Hawke looking puzzled. “Has something happened? The Grand Cleric seems upset.”

Sebastian began pacing back and forth in front of her. He couldn’t believe Elthina had just said no like that. “How long has she spent telling me to return to the Chantry?” He demanded of Anabel. “And now that I want to, she won’t take me. She thinks I’m fickle, but I mean it.”

Hawke’s bewilderment was plain. “You’ve decided to renew your vows? But you seemed so uncertain yesterday.” She frowned. And Elthina had been set on Sebastian’s retaking his vows, and now she didn’t want him to. What on Thedas had happened to change things? 

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. First Elthina and now Hawke. Perhaps he was fickle. But he couldn’t trust himself. Couldn’t risk that he might corrupt everything around him. Starkhaven. And Anabel. “I can’t continue to break my oath. And for what? Why would I want to return to Starkhaven and deal with jackals like Lady Harimann for the rest of my life?” He repeated the argument he’d given Elthina. The one she’d just brushed aside. 

“You’d have a certain freedom. No one tells a prince what to do.” Hawke pointed out.

He shuddered, hearing the echo of Allure’s words. That was exactly why he couldn’t be the prince. “I took vows, Anabel. I swore to serve the Maker, to take no bride but Andraste. If I could break those vows so easily, who’s to say I won’t break any others I make? I already have enough sins to atone for.”

She seemed unconvinced. “And what of Starkhaven?”

He brushed that aside. “I’ve been praying for guidance and had nothing. I cannot return, cannot rule without a clear sign that it’s the Maker’s will.”

Anabel looked at him, worry plain on her face, uncertain that the Maker passed out signs quite as liberally as Sebastian seemed to think. And it sounded as if he hadn’t entirely given up the idea of being the Prince, if he was still waiting for signs from the Maker. Listening to him she had to agree with Elthina, that he hadn’t thought this through. “I’m sorry that what we did yesterday has made such a muddle of things. I’d hoped it would help. It just seems to have made everything more complicated,” she said with an apologetic smile.

Maker. Why was he shouting at Anabel about it? He was muddled, he thought with a sigh. “It’s hardly your fault, Anabel.” 

“I’m sorry all the same.” She tried to think of what she could do to help and gave him a sudden smile. “Since I’m useless helping with your real problems the least I can do is provide you with a distraction from things. Want to hear what I’ve got planned for today?”

Being distracted sounded perfect. “You mentioned something about elves and a mountain?” 

“Hostile elves.” She corrected. “The Dalish camped up on Sundermount.” 

“I’ve never had any dealings with the Dalish before. Except for Merrill, of course.”

“This is Merrill’s clan actually, but they parted ways a few years back. She wants to go and speak with them. Consult with them about something. She hasn’t been back since she left and needs us for moral support. We might need to stay overnight. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No. Not at all. I’ll get my things and meet you in the Plaza.” If Elthina wasn’t going to let him renew his vows, then he didn’t need to follow the rules of the clergy, did he, he thought and immediately cursed his own childishness. Perhaps Elthina was right after all.


	9. Which of Us Should Do It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian learns some unwelcome truths about some of Hawke's companions.

They stopped in the Lowtown market to pick up some supplies. Sebastian watched her as she filled a basket almost to overflowing. “How long did you say we were staying on Sundermount?” He asked.

She laughed. “I’m picking up some food for my uncle. If he had his way he’d survive on nothing but cheap booze and moldy cheese.”

“And visits to the the Blooming Rose.” Commented Fenris dryly.

Hawke’s eyes twinkled. "That too.” She paid the merchant and led them out of the market, and past The Hanged Man to a shabby set of stone stairs.

Sebastian looked up at the crumbling house. The stink of cabbage and garbage was overwhelming. “You lived here?” He asked in disbelief.

She just grinned. “Understanding my desperation for coin for the expedition a little more now, are you?” She knocked on the door. “Gamlen, it’s me. I’ve brought some food.” She pushed open the door and walked in. As appalling as the outside had been, the inside was even worse. 

Hawke seemed not to notice. “Gamlen?” She knocked on the back door and opened it. “Not home.”

“And he leaves it unlocked?” Asked Sebastian.

“Look around. Not much to steal.” She walked over to a rickety desk and quite shamelessly rifled through the papers on it. She frowned at one and cursed before muttering. “Dammit Gamlen,” and tucking it into her pocket. She pulled the desk drawer open and found a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil and began scrawling a note.

Sebastian looked at Fenris in confusion.

“Hawke’s uncle falls behind in his bills from time to time. She likes to check them every so often.”

“She pays them?” At Fenris’ raised eyebrow he couldn’t help smiling. “Of course she does.” He murmured looking back at her.

Both men straightened as the front door opened suddenly and Gamlen Amell entered. He looked alarmed at the sight of the two of them and then saw Hawke. He relaxed briefly until he realized she was at the desk. “Hey, stay out of my desk!” He growled.

Anabel ignored him. “I’m not in your desk, Gamlen. Well I was, but that was just to leave you a note telling you I’d been by. I brought you some food. Actual food. Not mold with bits of food attached.”

Gamlen scowled. “I did manage to stay alive without your interference before you came to Kirkwall, you know. Don’t you have a mansion to take care of?” Sebastian could see the resemblance to Carver as the man spoke, if Carver were twenty years older and had overindulged in alcohol for most of those twenty years. 

Hawke feigned surprise “That’s the strangest thing. Throw enough coin around and those mansions almost take care of themselves. Which you would know if you came and lived there with us.” She pointed out. She’d invited him time and again, though she did understand why he didn’t take her up on the offer.

Gamlen sneered at the suggestion. “You may have some twisted sense of obligation to family that’s forcing you to live with that woman. Luckily I haven’t been cursed with that.”

“I wish you’d let me get you a new place.” She said, completely uncowed by his rudeness.

Her uncle glared at her. “I may be poor and living in Lowtown, but I’m not going to let some slip of a girl support me.”

“Yes, and you’re so much more manly because of it.” She said rolling her eyes. “Why are men so stupid about things like this?” She asked putting her hands on her hips.

He glowered down at her. “Leandra found you a husband yet, girl? Because I’ve got a few words for him about what he’s in for.”

Anabel burst out laughing. “Oh, well played, Gamlen!”

The man grinned back at her and years fell off him. He looked over and gave Fenris a brief nod, which the elf returned, before turning his attention to Sebastian. “He’s new.” He commented giving the prince an appraising look.

Sebastian reached out a hand to the man. “Sebastian Vael. It’s good to meet you. Anabel speaks of you often.”

Gamlen frowned but took the hand offered. “Right.” He turned to his niece. “Where’d you find this one?” He asked Hawke.

“He found me, actually. Invaded my privacy in the Viscount’s library at that do for the Orlesian ambassador a few weeks ago.”

Gamlen gave a grunt that might have meant anything and then his eyes widened suddenly. “Did you say Vael?” he asked, his head turning back to Sebastian.

“I did, serrah. “

“Of the Stark…”

“The Starkhaven Vaels. Yes.”

Gamlen burst out laughing. “A Vael of Starkhaven? And you’re gallivanting around with my niece?” 

Sebastian’s blue eyes looked warmly at Anabel. “I have that pleasure, yes.” She couldn’t help but smile back.

Gamlen noticed the exchanged looks and laughed even louder. “Leandra must be absolutely wetting herself with excitement.” He managed to get out between gasps of laughter.

Anabel slapped his arm. “Gamlen!” 

Gamlen just kept laughing. “Oh, too good for that kind of talk now that you’re hanging around with princes?” 

“You know, if I wanted this kind of abuse I could have just stayed home with Mother.” She pointed out, giving Sebastian an apologetic look. That only seemed to only amuse Gamlen more. He was still laughing when they left a short time later.

“Well, I think I made Gamlen’s day.” She commented as they walked towards the alienage. 

“You and your uncle seem to get along quite well.”

“Yes, well we’re united by our parents’ disappointment in us.”

“I should join you then.” He said.

“Surely your parents stopped being disappointed when you did so well in the Chantry?” She said in surprise.

“My father believed I should be more ambitious. Try to reach the pinnacle of power in the Chantry. I just wanted to serve.” 

“Maker, parents are tiring.” She remarked with a sigh. “I hope I’m different if I ever have children.”

“If?” He asked, curious. She never talked about her plans for the future. Her mother’s plans, yes. But never plans of her own. 

She looked up at him, a small smile curving her lips. “Demons, Qunari, Carta, Coterie. My life isn’t exactly conducive to motherhood at the moment. I hope that will change at some point. I’d love a whole houseful of misbehaving brats. We could all run wild together. Be the terror of Hightown.” 

Sebastian could just picture it. Hawke, still wearing her leather armor, surrounded by a bevy of redheaded children, all with her blue green eyes. Perhaps the eldest with his blue eyes. He stumbled when he realized where his thoughts had led him.

Anabel laughed. “Don’t worry. I hear a husband plays a part in that whole process, so it’s not likely to happen any time soon. Hightown is safe for the moment.” They walked into the alienage. Several of the elves called out greetings to Hawke.

“Do you know everyone in Lowtown?” Sebastian asked.

“You can run into all sorts of people down here. You never know who might be turn out to be important, right Fenris?” she said nudging the elf with her shoulder.

Fenris just scowled. “Didn’t the witch need to climb a mountain to do something unholy?” 

She frowned in the middle of raising her hand to knock on the door. “You’re going to be nice aren’t you? Or at least not openly hostile?”

Fenris looked away. “I make no promises.” 

“Of course not.” She said rolling her eyes and knocked on Merrill’s door. 

 

Sebastian wasn’t quite sure if Sundermount was beautiful or not. Imposing. Impressive. Awe inspiring. But there was something oppressive about it. Something not dark exactly, but heavy somehow. It seemed enshrouded. The sun didn’t penetrate the clouds and fog. It felt wild, like time and civilization had passed it by. He looked down and started when he found Merrill at his elbow, looking up at him curiously. 

“What does your Chantry do, Sebastian?” She asked without any preamble. “I mean, you keep saying how great it is. Anders and Isabela tell me to stay away from it. But what does it do? Among the Dalish, the Keepers teach the children, preserve our history, perform magic.” 

“The Chantry does many charitable works. It cares for widows and orphans…” He began to explain.

“Who in the Dalish would just be part of the clan, like everyone else.” She sighed. “I just don't get it. The priestesses at your Chantry just... sing.”

He smiled serenely at her but his eyes were so kind. She could see why Hawke liked him so much when he did that. At least a little bit. He was a little too shiny and perfect for her liking.

“Have you heard the Chant of Light?” He asked. 

She frowned trying to remember if she had. “That's the song they sing at the Chantry, right? It's pretty... but a little repetitive.”

He looked startled by her evaluation but quickly covered it up. “Then you know the story? How Andraste became the Maker's divine bride and convinced Him to offer us a second chance?”

One of the Andrastean elves in the alienage had knocked on her door one night wanting to explain it. Asking if she’d received Andraste the Bride as her personal savior. It seemed a little creepy to her. “Right. But I never understood why she had to die.” 

“Her mortal husband betrayed her out of jealousy.” 

Well, that didn’t explain it at all. “But if He wanted her to spread her faith, couldn't she do that better alive?”

“The Maker gave us free will. By his betrayal, Maferath showed us that men were not yet worth saving.”

It seemed ridiculous to her that everyone had to be punished because one man was jealous that his wife had relations with a spirit. But she didn’t want to offend Sebastian when he was being so nice, and Hawke liked him so much. “I don't know.” She offered. “It's a nice story, but I think it's got some holes.” She heard Hawke give laugh and then quickly cough. When she looked back at Sebastian he had a rueful smile on his face. She smiled back, glad she hadn’t given offense. She looked up ahead, spying something.

“Oh, caves! I like caves!” She squealed in excitement running ahead. 

“No, you don't, Merrill.” Called Hawke after her. 

“Oh, right! Giant creepy spiders and things live in caves!” She frowned. “What is it I'm thinking of, then? Ruins?” 

“Probably.” Merrill ran past Fenris who scowled at her as she passed. 

Hawke watched her fondly before glancing at Sebastian. “Are you horrified by my irreverent friends?” She asked him.

“No, not at all.” He looked at the small Dalish woman, now peeking in the cave’s entrance. “Why does Fenris dislike Merrill so?” asked Sebastian.

Anabel caught her lip between her teeth. She’d been dreading this moment. But there was no avoiding it any more. She slowed her pace, letting Merrill and Fenris get a little more ahead of them. “I’d been meaning to tell you about that.” She hesitated a moment. Best to just have it out. “Merrill is a blood mage.”

“What?!” He stopped walking and stared at her, for one moment certain that she was joking with him.

“Sshhh.” She glanced over to make sure Merrill hadn’t heard him. She looked back at him, her eyes solemn.

“You can’t be serious? And you haven’t told the Templars?” A blood mage. He was assisting a blood mage.

“Tell the Templars?” She sounded as horrified as he felt. “So they can turn her over to Meredith? Can you see Merrill locked up in the Tower? It would kill her. That is if they even let her attempt the Harrowing. In all likelihood they’d automatically make her tranquil, if they didn’t just kill her right off.” 

In spite of his horror Sebastian couldn’t help glancing over at Merrill, who was skipping through the meadow, stopping and smelling flowers. Literally. She certainly wasn’t like any blood mage he had ever imagined. He looked back at Anabel.

“I understand what you feel. Truly. When I first realized it I was furious. With her. With Marethari for not telling me. But eventually I realized that for her it’s just another tool to be used in her magic, like a potion, or a staff. She only ever uses her own blood, never anyone else’s. She’s never harmed anyone in the three years I’ve known her.”

“But why would she even need to? Why turn to blood magic at all then.” He said attempting to be reasonable. Reasonable. About a blood mage.

“She’s trying to fix an artifact, a mirror. It’s elven. She claims it’s from Arlathan. You know about Arlathan, right?” She asked, a worried expression still on her face. He hadn’t started shouting, or run away yet. The was good, right?

“Of course.” He said, impatiently.

“Some people don’t.” She pointed out. “Most humans don’t. Anyway she’s got it in her house. It’s creepy as the Void.”

“How can a mirror be creepy?” Sebastian asked.

She shuddered thinking of the way that thing felt. Any time she looked into it, it felt as though it was pulling at her. As if it was trying to pull a reflection out of her. And every so often she thought she heard it humming, with that same dull thrum at the back of her skull that the lyrium idol had. She could barely stand to be in the same room with it. “It doesn’t reflect.” She said simply.

He tried to understand. ‘You mean it’s just dark? How can it be a mirror then?”

“No it’s not just dark, it…” Her voice trailed off and she shivered again. “It’s impossible to explain. It has to be experienced. Merrill says it wasn’t always like that. She says it was corrupted by the Darkspawn, by the Blight. She wants to fix it. Give it back to her people. It’s all she thinks about. That’s when she started doing blood magic. A...” she almost said demon, but stopped herself just in time. “spirit told her how to fix it.” 

He caught the hesitation. “A spirit that told her to do blood magic?” He said, with a dubious look at her.

She flushed. “A demon.”

Sebastian actually cursed, which startled her more than any other reaction would have. She’d never heard him use bad language. 

He gave her a reproving look. “You should have told me, Anabel.”

“Yes. I should have." She said immediately, and her eyes were filled with regret. "I’m sorry. But truly, she’s more concerned with fixing that damned mirror than enthralling anyone. I watch her. I watch her so carefully. I won’t let her harm anyone. And I’m trying to turn her away from it. Get her to destroy that thing. Please, trust me.” 

He stared at Merrill, not answering Hawke’s entreaty. “You said her clan exiled her. Because of the blood magic?”

“Yes.”

“So why are we going to see them?”

“I’m not sure. Something about a tool she needs to fix the mirror. I want to ask Merethari about the mirror. If she thinks it wise to let Merrill keep working on it.” 

“Marethari is their leader?”

“She’s their Keeper.” She hesitated briefly. “She’s also a mage.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Not a blood mage, I promise.”

He lifted a hand to his suddenly throbbing head, and glanced at Hawke. She was gnawing at her lower lip and looked anxiously at him. 

“You never cease surprising me Anabel.” His mind was reeling.

She sighed. “You’re not the first to tell me that. I’m never quite certain if it’s a good thing or not.” 

At this point, neither was he.

She was looking ahead at a fork in the road. Merrill could be seen a good distance down one of the paths. “Merrill. It’s the other path.” Anabel called.

Merrill stopped and peered down the path. “Are you sure?” 

“Quite sure. That path leads back down the mountain. That’s why it goes down.”

“Oh. Well that makes sense.” Merrill said agreeably, and trotted back to the fork to wait for them to catch up with her. 

“You’re so lucky Hawke. How come you never get lost?” It was easy to see Merrill worshipped Anabel. 

“I do. Sometimes.” Anabel said, giving her an affectionate smile. 

Merrill looked surprised. “No! I've never seen it! And everybody follows you, and you always seem to know where you're going!” 

Anabel shrugged. “Just act like you know where you're going, that's usually enough.” 

“I try that sometimes!” Merrill sighed. “But there's no amount of confidence that makes up for walking into the Grand Cleric's airing cupboard.” She looked forlorn.

“What about that time I led us in circles around the Wounded Coast for three hours?” Hawke reminded her.

Merrill’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh! I thought you were just admiring the view! Well, it was a lovely day at least.” She ran on ahead.

Sebastian stared after her, and found himself smiling in spite of himself. He glanced at Anabel, who was looking at him hopefully. “All right. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.” He’d give the blood mage the benefit of the doubt. He shook his head in wonder at the statement.

Anabel sighed with relief. “Thank you, Sebastian.” She gave him a smile that quite literally took his breath away. 

“But if anything should happen.” He warned.

Her face was suddenly utterly serious. “If anything happens I’ll turn her in myself.” 

Sebastian looked doubtful. 

“I’ve done it before. Ask Anders. Why do you think he and I fight so often?”

“I wasn’t aware you did fight.” He said, surprised to hear it. He thought of the easy affection she had with the mage. The way he looked at her when he thought no one was watching. The way he touched her bare skin so freely when healing her. The camaraderie between them. An ugly wave of jealousy rose up. 

She just laughed, utterly unaware of it. “Oh yes, we fight. We’ve gone weeks at a time without speaking.” 

He was forced to admit this cheered him and then he felt very small and petty indeed.

 

They reached the Dalish camp, and Merrill’s fears about how her clan felt about her proved to be utterly justified. Hawke’s lively good nature appeared unchanged as she spoke with the Dalish guarding the camp, but as they walked into the camp and the hostile looks directed at Merrill increased, Hawke moved to Merrill’s side and Sebastian found himself moving to the elf’s other side as they went to speak with the Keeper.

 

As it was late in the afternoon, the decision was made to put off hunting whatever beast had been killing the Dalish until the next morning. They set up camp outside of the Dalish settlement. 

He and Fenris were sitting by the fire when Anabel returned from the filling their canteens at a nearby stream, and sank down next to him. 

He smiled at her. “Where’s Merrill?”

“Having a bath. She insists that bathing in a tub of hot water just isn’t the same, that nothing feels as good as bathing in fresh cold mountain water. I think she’s nuts.” She leaned back on her hands and looked over at him. “What do you think of Marethari?” she asked.

To his surprise he’d liked the Keeper. She had the wisdom of age, and obviously cared about Merrill, though Merrill clearly thought otherwise. “She reminds me of Elthina.” He said.

Anabel looked delighted. “That was exactly what I thought. I’m glad you see it too. Wouldn’t you love to introduce them to each other?” she asked.

Fenris scoffed “She is a witch. You should not forget that.”

“Fenris.” Anabel gave him a warning look. “Not all mages are what you saw in Tevinter.”

Fenris just grunted. “You sound like the Abomination.” 

Sebastian didn’t understand the name, but assumed he was referring to Merrill until he saw Anabel’s frown.

“Please don’t call him that.” She said. 

“Him?” Sebastian asked.

Anabel wouldn’t, or couldn’t meet his eyes suddenly. He looked at Fenris for an explanation.

“The mage.” Fenris explained.

“Fenris!” She was glaring at him.

“Anders?” Sebastian looked from one to the other. He turned back to Anabel, a feeling of dread growing inside him. “Anabel, is there something else I should know?” He demanded.

She turned from scowling at Fenris. “He’s not an abomination.” She insisted. Sebastian had almost relaxed, when she added, “Not really.”

 

Sebastian sat on a fallen tree trunk in the dark, looking off in the distance, his mind still reeling. He looked up as Fenris joined him, handing him an open bottle of wine. 

“You looked as if you might have need of this.” The elf said as he sat down next to him.

Sebastian opened his mouth to deny it, but simply took the bottle instead. He took a swallow. “I don’t know what to make of this.” He admitted.

“I felt much the same when I discovered what her companions were.” Said Fenris.

“And yet you’ve stayed with her.” 

For a moment Fenris looked as if he didn’t quite understand why either, but he looked across towards the fire at Hawke. His face seemed to still, and he said simply. “I do not trust them. But I trust her.” 

Sebastian turned his head and looked toward the fire. Did he still trust Hawke? He didn’t know right now. A blood mage. And a possessed apostate. “It's our duty to tell the Templars.” He muttered softly. He took another drink, imagining Anabel’s reaction were he to do so.

He turned to find Fenris looking at him knowingly. “Then why don’t you?” He asked.

Sebastian said nothing, but stood and walked over to where he could more clearly see Anabel sitting next to the fire. She would never forgive him if he did.

Fenris had come up beside him. “You don’t wish to betray Hawke's friends, right?” He had obviously had this argument with himself. 

“That's not reason enough to allow a maleficar to walk free!” Sebastian exclaimed. He couldn’t overlook blood magic and demonic possession simply because of a pretty face, just because of his obsession with Anabel Hawke. It would be a betrayal of everything he believed in.

Wouldn’t it? 

Yes. Of course it would. He turned resolutely back to Fenris. “Which of us should do it? Shall we draw lots?” he asked.

Fenris looked almost amused. “Oh, no, my friend. You want to turn them in, you work it out with Hawke.”

Sebastian glanced back at the fire. Anabel was looking into the flames, the firelight playing off her curls. Merrill’s head was in her lap, and she was gently stroking the mage’s hair. She looked troubled. Because of him. In spite of his anger with her, he wanted to go to to her, hold her, soothe her until that looked disappeared. And then he knew.

He couldn’t do it. 

“Perhaps they’ll come to it on their own.” He said softly to himself. 

“Congratulations.” Said Fenris with a smile, passing him the wine again. “Now you’re really part of the group.”


	10. I Know What This Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's honesty causes her difficulties with some of her companions. A visit to Gascard DuPuis reveals more facts about the Kirkwall Killer, and an old foe reappears.

Anders had lit the lanterns when the sky first began to turn from black to grey. He hadn’t intended to work through the night, but after escorting two apprentices out of the gallows, and narrowly escaping a random Templar patrol, he had been too keyed up to sleep. So he’d lit the lantern and sat down at his desk to work on the manifesto.

“You ever going to let me read that thing?” He smiled at the sound of Hawke’s voice, before turning to look at her. He never knew when she’d turn up at his door. She was leaning there at the entrance. She wore only leggings tucked into leather boots and a loose linen shirt, her hair tied carelessly back by a vivid turquoise ribbon. 

“Someday.” He said tucking the manifesto out of sight and turning to look at her. “When it’s ready. You’re up early.” Up early and not wearing armor. She wasn’t even carrying her blades, he realized with a frown. “You shouldn’t be down here unarmed.” 

She seemed completely unconcerned. “I wasn’t intending to stay for long. My plan is to whisk you away for breakfast and ply you with freshly made baked goods.”

It was a tempting offer. Hawke’s offers usually were. Or maybe it was just Hawke who was so tempting. He looked torn. “I shouldn’t. I’ve been neglecting my patients lately.”

“The sun’s barely up, patients won’t be here for a while. I’ve got a table set up in the garden. A steaming pot of tea for you. A ridiculously large cup of coffee for me. Fresh air. Unparalleled company and conversation.” She could see him wavering. “I’ve things to tell you, secrets to reveal.”

“Secrets?” he said smirking.

“Indeed. Some good, some bad. Hence the baked goods.”

He looked at her, wavering.

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “You aren’t going to make me beg are you? Because I will, you know. Come on.” She coaxed. ”I need non-judgmental company and you need fresh air and sunshine. Just an hour. And you know you want to.” 

He did. “It’ll take half an hour at least just to get to your house and back.” He argued. 

“That’s the first secret. I’ll give you a hint.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small iron key, holding it up for him to see.

“What’s that then?” he asked. 

She smiled knowingly at him. “Are you going to come have breakfast?”

He couldn’t resist her. “All right. An hour then. So what lock does that mysterious key open?”

“Were you aware that this section of the Undercity is directly below Hightown? More specifically, directly below my house?”

He hadn’t. “Is it now?” His nights of longing for Hawke weren’t going to be made any easier by the knowledge that she was lying in her ridiculously opulent bed directly above him.

“Come.” She held out her hand in invitation.

Intrigued, he took her hand and let her lead him to the door. She paused to let him extinguish the lanterns, and instead of heading down the stairs she turned right, towards the abandoned doorway that you could barely make out in the gloom. There were hundreds of doors like it in the Undercity. He didn’t give most of them a second thought. 

She strolled over to it and after looking to make certain they were unobserved, pushed it open. “After you Serah.” She said, indicating the doorway with an elaborate flourish.

Anders walked in and stared up at the ladder disappearing into the darkness. “And this leads to your house?”

“Right into my basement. Well sub-basement, actually.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Didn’t you ever wonder how the food I bring you was still warm?” 

“I probably should have.” He said. The truth was he’d paid more attention to her than to the food she brought him.

She clambered nimbly up the ladder ahead of him, pulling out the key and unlocking the trap door when she reached the top. Light flooded in from above. He climbed up after her and found himself in a tidy basement.

“I’ve never seen this part of your house.” He said, looking around. 

“It’s not terribly exciting. Just storage.” She led him through a series of rooms, and up another flight of stairs into a hallway. 

He’d been here before. The kitchens were just down the hall.

Hawke stood in front of him, and taking his hand, pressed the key into it, and then gently folded his fingers shut around it. She kept her hands wrapped around his for a moment. They were small enough that it took both of them to cover his one. When she looked up at him her face was serious. 

“I want you to have this. In case you ever need a quick escape from Darktown.”

“You’re giving me a key to your house?” he asked stupidly.

She gave him a teasing smile. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” 

“Meredith’s made helping apostates a hanging offense.”

She just looked at him serenely. “I know.”

He just stared at her. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Hawke.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I wouldn’t let you in if you knocked on the door anyway, but this makes your trip a little shorter.” Her offhand manner was belied by the worry on her face. “The Templars are getting a little too zealous for my comfort. Since you refuse to let me help with the mage underground this is the only thing I could think of to do. It’s selfish of me, really. I want you safe.”

Putting herself in danger and calling it selfish. “I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me to have you as a friend these last three years. To have your support.”

“Probably a lot of extra practice for your healing skills.” She joked, giving him a fleeting glimpse of her dimple. She gave his hand a quick squeeze and started to walk past him, but he caught her by the arm as she passed. Her smile disappeared when she saw the expression in his face.

“You are so much more than that.” He said, unable to take his eyes from her. She was so beautiful. More beautiful now then the first time he’d kissed her, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers down the side of her face, unable to resist the urge to touch her. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him. He saw her throat move as she swallowed nervously. Slowly, he slid his arms around her slender waist. “I’ve tried to hold back…” he whispered as he leaned down. He brushed his lips against hers. Just that briefest of touches brought back the memory of the kiss they’d shared in the Deep Roads three years ago and he let out a low moan. How had he denied himself this for so long? He pulled her close against him, reveling in the feel of her body against his and leaning down, pressed his mouth firmly over hers. She hesitated for a moment and then her lips slowly softened against his. He felt a thrill of satisfaction and his hands tightened on her.

“Enchantment!” yelled an excited voice. There was a loud explosion and the hallway filled with thick grey smoke. 

The next few minutes were chaos. Boy came bounding in barking madly, Bodhan was opening windows and doors, apologizing profusely all the while. Anders was busy putting out the flames, and making sure no one was burned. 

“What on Thedas is going on here?” Leandra stood in the doorway her robe clutched around her.

“Enchantment?” Sandal suggested hesitantly. 

Leandra frowned at him and then saw her daughter’s companion. “Anders.” She said, inclining her head towards him.

“Leandra.” He said nodding back. Whether it was his having saved Carver, or memories of her own healer husband, Leandra was always quite civil to him, which was more than could be said about how she treated Hawke’s other companions. Anders still couldn’t stand the woman.

She turned back to her daughter. “It’s a little early for guests and explosions, isn’t it? What will people think?”

Hawke just shrugged. “Whatever they want to, I imagine. It’s certainly not under my control.” She said feigning a nonchalance she was far from feeling. Anders had kissed her after refusing to even consider anything between them for three years. The trouble was she didn’t know if she wanted him kissing her now. Because of Sebastian. Which was just stupid because Sebastian was set on retaking his vows. And she wasn’t even sure if he was speaking to her anyway. She’d been pestering Anders about taking a chance with her on and off for years, and now he apparently had, and while it had felt nice it hadn’t felt anything close to the kiss Sebastian had given her. Or maybe she was misreading the whole thing. Her head was spinning as she tried to figure it out. She barely registered Leandra’s complaints.

“Your behavior is most certainly under your control, and it’s that which makes people talk.”

Hawke ignored her. “Does anything else need to be taken out, Bodhan.”

“No, messere, everything’s set up as you requested. I’ll bring out the tea and coffee immediately.”

“Anabel!” Said Leandra. “I am speaking to you.”

“We’ll be in the garden if you need anything, Mother.” Hawke said, walking out of the door.

Leandra huffed and flounced out of the room.

 

Anders helped himself to his third scone, and looked around the garden. “It’s starting to come together.” She’d found someone to help out, some retired gardener who use to work at the Keep and the man had managed to coax the garden slowly back to life. 

Hawke smiled as she looked around. “I think so. Certainly compared to what it was. Remember what it looked like when we first moved in?” She broke off a piece of scone and handed it to Boy, who was lying at her feet. 

“A refuse dump, as I recall.” He smiled at her, leaning back in his chair. 

“Exactly. It could have competed with some of the ones around your clinic. Did I tell you I’ve ordered a fountain for it? Nothing fancy. But I think it’ll be nice. Help cool it off in the summer.” He was staring at her with a look she hadn’t seen since that night in the Hanged Man. She blushed, entirely unsure how to handle the situation. “Are you busy tonight?” she asked suddenly.

He was making her nervous. He’d surprised her with that kiss. He’d surprised himself, to be perfectly honest. A relationship would be a disaster, but he didn’t know if he could hold back any longer. “I’ve got nothing planned. What do you need?” 

“I thought I’d go visit Gascard DuPuis, see if there’s anything to Emeric’s accusations. I was hoping you’d come along?”

He gave her a lazy smile. “I could do that.”

“Thanks. We were planning to meet just after dark by his house. It’s just a couple of doors down from Fenris’ place.”

“I’ll be there. Who else is coming?”

“Aveline and Isabela.”

“Not Fenris?” It was rare she didn’t bring the elf along.

“He’s taken a mercenary job Varric set up for him. He’s gone until week’s end.”

He took a sip of his tea before asking carefully. “Sebastian won’t be there?” 

A brief shadow crossed her face. “I haven’t asked him.”

That was interesting. Lately it had seemed like they couldn’t do anything without the prince tagging along. 

She changed the subject again. “Do you remember Idunna?”

“Idunna the Exotic Wonder of the East, you mean? That blood mage at the Blooming Rose? The one that tried to kill you?”

“That’s the one. I got a letter from her.”

“Really?” He wondered who in the Gallows was helping convicted blood mages send letters out. They could be a useful contact for the Underground. 

“She’s repented and seen the Light, so she says. She’s claiming Tahrone enchanted some books. Bound demons to them to protect the knowledge inside. Apparently they’re hidden all over Kirkwall. Conveniently she didn’t say where precisely.”

“Helpful.”

“Mmmm.” She murmured in agreement. “She’s asked me to find them and destroy them. We should keep an eye out for them.”

“You haven’t felt anything off?” he asked.

“It’s Kirkwall. It always feels off.” She said cynically. “But I’ll pay more attention to those feelings now.”

“Speaking of blood mages, how was Sundermount?” He knew she’d brought Sebastian along for that one.

She took a sip of her coffee before she answered. “A bit of a disaster. Ever heard of something called a varterral?”

He racked his brain. “It’s elven myth isn’t it? An immortal guardian or something.” He suddenly realized why she was mentioning it. “No. You found one?” 

“I did. Sundermount, home of giant spiders, horrors and revenants, now proud to bring you the varterral.”

“Did you kill it?”

“That’s up for debate. Merrill says that as long as it has something to guard, it can never truly be killed. She’s not speaking to me now, by the way.” She looked out at the garden.

“You managed to get Merrill angry at you?” The elf worshipped Hawke. “That’s quite an achievement.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

“What happened?” 

Hawke sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Turns out she wanted to borrow some tool to fix that mirror. Killing the varterral was the price Merethari asked. So we killed it Merethari warned her against it using it, Merrill refused to listen and so Merethari gave the thing to me, with strict instructions not to let her get into trouble with it. Much the same way she gave me Merrill the first time we met.”

“Thank you, Merethari.” he commented. “You didn’t let her have it, did you?”

She scoffed. “No. Of course not.”

“I’m assuming Merrill didn’t take it well?”

“You could say that. Called me a shem’len, and told me she couldn’t believe she’d ever trusted me.” She said it lightly, but it was obvious it had hurt her. 

“She’ll come around.” 

“Or not. I went to her house yesterday to speak to her.” She took a scone she didn’t want, and began buttering it. 

“And?” he prompted.

“And she threw me out.” She stared at the scone and then just handed it to Boy, who eagerly swallowed it down, his tail wagging madly.

“You did the right thing.” He said wanting to comfort her.

“Yes. I still feel lousy about it though. But more than that happened up on Sundermount. And it concerns you, I’m afraid.” 

“I see you’ve waited until I’m placated with scones and jam.” He said wondering at her serious expression. 

“Sebastian knows about Justice.”

He couldn’t help the flash of alarm that went through him quickly followed by anger. “I suppose Fenris couldn’t wait to pass along that bit of information?”

“It wasn’t Fenris. I told him.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Fenris may have let it slip, but she was the one who told Sebastian the details. The last thing she needed was Fenris and Anders at each other’s throats. Well, at each other’s throats more than they normally were.

He stared at her in appalled silence for a moment. “You told the right hand man of the senior most cleric in all the Free Marches that I have a spirit living inside of me?” 

Her chin lifted defiantly. “Yes.”

“Someone who is part of an organization whose goal is to destroy my kind and everything we represent.” He thought about Alrik’s Tranquil Solution. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell Hawke about it yet. He stared at her. “That’s why you gave me the key. Guilt. You think he might turn me into the Templars.” He’d thought it meant something else entirely. He’d let himself think that. Let himself kiss her. Let himself hope he could have something with her. He felt like a fool. Justice was practically barking his outrage.

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t give you the key out of guilt. I gave it to you because I care about you and I’m worried about you. About the Templars.” He felt his anger begin to ebb, and then she added. “And Sebastian wouldn’t turn you in.” She didn’t think he would anyway.

“You’re certain of that, are you.” He snapped at her. She couldn’t meet his eyes and he had his answer. How could she claim to care about him and then leap to the defense of someone who was just a tool of the Chantry? 

Anabel was watching him, her expression suddenly wary. She could feel Justice seething, trying to break free. The familiar cracks of blue light began to flare. Boy began to growl. “Anders!” she said sharply. “You’re glowing. Get it under control.” The flare subsided, leaving only Anders, but he was furious enough.

“Right. Because after all we know what a dangerous abomination I am. I might start ripping heads off any second, and since the only head around here is yours, I’d better go.” He pushed back from the table, the wrought iron chair screeching along the flagstones of the terrace. “I’d really appreciate it if the next time you go telling members of the Chantry about me, you at least gave me a heads up beforehand. You really weren’t kidding about having a gift for pissing people off.” He threw his napkin on the table, and stormed out ignoring her calling his name. 

It was only after he stormed out the front door that he realized he couldn’t go back and use the hidden entrance down to the clinic. He was going to have to walk all the way back to Darktown. Marvelous. Just marvelous.

 

He almost didn’t go and meet her at the DuPuis mansion that night, but then he thought of what might happen if DuPuis did turn out to be the murderer. He remembered those women –- those pieces of women -- they’d discovered in the foundry in Lowtown. Fenris couldn’t be there. What if she were injured? Who would take care of her? Cursing himself for his weakness where she was concerned and telling Justice in no uncertain terms to shut it, he grabbed his staff and headed to Hightown. 

Hawke, Isabela, and Aveline, as well as a small group of guardsmen were there when he arrived. 

Hawke’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw him. “Anders! I didn’t think...”

He ignored the obvious relief on her face. “I told you I’d help.” 

“I just thought, after you left like that…”

“Let’s just do this all right?” he said curtly.

Isabela raised an eyebrow as Anders stalked away to wait by the door. “What’s up with Sparklefingers?”

“I told Sebastian about Justice.” Explained Hawke looking over at Anders.

“And then you told Anders you’d told him?” Isabela shook her head. “Oh kitten, what have I told you about this honesty thing?” 

“I thought he should know.” Said Hawke stubbornly.

“Which one?” Isabela asked.

Hawke glared at her. “Both.”

Isabela just shook her head. “You don’t think Andraste-crotch is going to tattle to the Templars, do you?”

Hawke ignored the nickname. “No. I don’t think so. I don’t think he feels particularly good about that decision though.“ He hadn’t been angry exactly, or he hadn’t shown it anyway, but there had been a definite coolness that she’d never experienced from him before. She hated it. 

Isabela watched the emotions pass over the girl’s face. “Men. There’s just no pleasing them.”

“There’s more though.” She turned back to the pirate. “He kissed me.”

Isabela’s eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Andraste-crotch kissed you? Again?” 

“No! Maker, stop calling him that.” Hawke looked around to make sure no one had overheard the pirate’s squeal of delight. “Anders kissed me.” She explained in a quieter voice.

“Where?” Isabela asked eagerly.

“Just outside the kitchen in my house.” The pirate rolled her eyes. “Oh. On the mouth.”

“And how do we feel about this?” 

“It was … nice.” Hawke sounded unconvinced.

“Ah. Didn’t make your toes curl, then? Not like that kiss from Andraste-Cr…Sebastian?”

“Who said that one made my toes curl?” asked Hawke blushing.

“Oh, Sweet thing, are you kidding? That kiss made my toes curl. What happened after Sparklefingers kissed you?”

Hawke sighed. “Sandal tried to blow up the storage room. We sort of pretended it didn’t happen once the smoke had cleared.” She groaned. “Maker, why’s it so complicated?” She sighed again. “I’m never going to have sex.”

Isabela’s arm snuck around her waist. “You could try something entirely different.” She suggested, leaning down and nibbling on Hawke’s ear .

Hawke just laughed and hugged the pirate. “Oh, Izzy. What would I do without you?” 

Isabel smiled serenely, returning the hug, not in the least bit offended by the rejection. Not that she would turn Hawke down if she ever did express any real interest. The girl was absolutely delicious after all. She looked over as Aveline joined them. “You’d have to confide in Captain Man-hands here, and with her advice you really would never get laid.”

Aveline glared at the pirate, but didn’t say anything. “I’ve told my men to watch all the exits. Are you ready?” she asked Hawke.

“Yes. Let’s do this.” 

“We’d better find something this time. I had to kiss enough ass last time we went into this house. Shut up, whore.” She warned as Isabela opened her mouth to comment. 

They walked over to where Anders stood waiting. Hawke smiled hopefully at him, but he just looked away.

Great. She reached out a hand to knock and frowned realizing, not only was it unlocked, it was actually open an inch. She raised an eyebrow. “Does no one in Hightown lock their doors anymore?” She looked at her companions. “What do we think? Did someone break in? Or is Gascard expecting someone?”

“Either way, we should be on our guard.” Said Aveline, readying her weapons. The others followed suit and they moved carefully into the house. Hawke gently closed the door behind them. The minute the door clicked shut, shades rose around them, appearing seemingly from nowhere, and from everywhere: from both sides of the double staircase, from the rooms leading off the foyer, from the ground itself. Frenzied moments of fighting followed. The shades finally seemed to be vanquished when a fiery rage demon flared to life directly in front of her. She flipped backwards to avoid its grasp and Anders hit it with an ice spell. Aveline slammed it with her shield and Isabel hit it with both her daggers, the three of them making short work of it.

Hawke stared at Aveline. “You didn’t see any of this when you were here before?”

“You think if we’d met that particular reception Gascard would still be living here?” Aveline seemed outraged by the suggestion.  
Hawke moved to the desk and lifted a note. 

_Gascard_  
 _Thank you kindly for your last shipment. It arrived in almost perfect condition. The requested payment is on its way. Please use the artifact with care. The creatures can be difficult to control, even for an experienced mage._

_A pleasure doing business,_

_Your friend_

She read. “I already don’t like this man.” She turned to Anders. “You think these shades were the creatures he was talking about?” 

“Probably.” he said tersely

She shuddered. “As if Kirkwall didn’t have enough demons on its own. Now we’re importing them?” She waited for a witty rejoinder from Anders but he didn’t say anything. “Any chance we finished them off just now?”

“It’s unlikely.” He looked away, not meeting her eye. 

She tried not to be annoyed by his brusqueness. He had reason to be angry, she told herself. “Well, let’s go find Monsieur DuPuis and see just what he’s been up to, shall we?”

Up the stairs, and through another doorway into a dining hall filled with shades. Like a waiting room for demons, she thought fleetingly as she spun and stabbed and ducked out of their grasping hands. How had DuPuis kept all of this out of sight? 

“You know for a city with such a supposedly powerful Templar contingent, there seems to be a ridiculous number of flourishing blood mages just hanging around.” She commented when the last shade had fallen. She picked up a letter lying on one of the tables. 

_Messere DuPuis,_  
 _This is in regards to your inquiry into missing mages. I would like to remind you that the duty of seeking out missing mages, if there were any to begin with, would fall to the templars of Starkhaven, not a minor nobleman from Kirkwall._  
 _I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the Circle of the Magi, as a whole, does not welcome casual inquiries about the mages in its care._  
 _Thank you,_  
 _First Enchanter Raddick_

She frowned. “I wonder who he was looking for? And why?” 

“It’s a shame you can’t ask the Starkhaven mages. But since most of them have been made tranquil since you turned them over to the Templars, they’re not the most scintillating of conversationalists.” Anders said bitterly.

Anabel flinched at his words and then looked absolutely livid. “Really? That’s how this evening is going to go?”

Aveline was scowling at him, Isabela looked deliberately neutral. Hawke was glaring at him. He felt his own tempter rise. She had no right to be angry with him. He wasn’t saying anything untrue. “We should get going.” Was his only response.

Fine. Let him be like that. “Sorry.” She said snippily. “Didn’t realize I was holding you up.” She stalked past him. More rooms and staircases, blessedly empty. She pushed open another door. A study. She hesitated and swallowed hard, as an all too familiar nausea rose in her throat. She looked around the room, spotting a desk in the corner, vials of blood neatly lined up in a row. 

Anders noticed when she suddenly turned pale and followed her gaze. He crossed to the desk and inspected the vials. “Blood magic.” He confirmed. Hawke just scowled at him and left the room.

They went up another flight of stairs, through another set of doors. Hawke lingered at a desk reading something. She shook her head. “An apology to Gascard from Meredith. This man has connections.” She commented, passing the note to Aveline. 

She pushed open a nearby door. A bedroom this time. Just inside was an open chest, overflowing with women’s clothing. Hawke frowned as she crouched down to look more closely. “Has anyone else noticed anything in the least bit womanly in this house? Whose clothes are these?”

“Perhaps these belong to a family member?” suggested Aveline.

Anabel frowned, poking through them. “No. We’ve got rich gowns, rough cotton working clothes. Large, small, tall, short. They’re from different women. Something is very off about this.” She stayed there considering for a moment before looking up at the Guard Captain. “I don’t know if he’s the killer, but whatever he’s up to here, it’s not good.”

“Agreed.” Said Aveline. “But is he here? Is he even in the house?”

“Oh he’s here.” Hawke said grimly. She could feel him, feel the thrum of his magic. Had felt it all the more clearly since coming across those vials. “Come on.” She got to her feet and left the room, the other following close behind. Down the hallway, through another door, the magic and the nausea getting stronger as she progressed. She was dimly aware of Anders behind her, watching her carefully. Part of her wanted him closer so that the feel of his magic would balance out DuPuis’. Part of her was just pissed off at him. 

She stopped suddenly, holding up a hand for the others to be quiet. She could hear a woman crying: harsh ugly crying, caused by fear and despair. By giving up. That bastard had someone here right now. She didn’t hesitate, just opened the door and walked right in.

Gascard DuPuis was by the balcony standing over woman who was huddled miserably on the floor in front of him. He was young, handsome and reeking of some of the foulest magic she’d ever encountered. 

The woman lifted a blotchy, tear-stained face. “Help me.” She pleaded. “He’s gone mad.” She was an older woman, about Leandra’s age. 

Gascard DuPuis just stared at them. “You’re not him.” He said his surprise evident. He looked down at the woman and then up at Hawke, alarmed by her grim expression. “Shit, I know what this looks like, but I didn’t hurt her.” He insisted.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “No? The wide eyed hysteria and screaming’s just for show then?” The woman gave another frantic sob. “Let her go and we can talk.”

He shook his head. “I let her, go you’ll kill me. I can explain. Someone is after her. I had to keep her safe.” 

Hawke just laughed. 

He looked nonplussed by her reaction. “Just let me explain. There’s a killer out there and I think he’s playing us both.” 

So he knew the killer. Or knew of him. Knew more than they knew. If he wasn’t making the whole thing up. “All right. Let’s see if you can talk your way out of this.” Her contempt for him was clear.

“Several years ago my sister was murdered. The bastard’s in Kirkwall now, killing again. The same way he killed my sister. It starts with a bouquet of white lilies.”

White lilies. Hadn’t Ninette’s husband said something about her getting white lilies? It wasn’t something that had become common knowledge. 

“He sends them to each victim.” He indicated the woman at his feet. “Alessa was going to be next. I took her so he’d have to come to me. I could finally face my sister’s murderer. But then you showed up.” It sounded like an accusation.

“He’s lying. He hurt me.” Sobbed Alessa.

Anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to the woman and she cringed away from him. “I explained this. I need your blood to track you down if he took you. It’s for your own protection.” He shouted taking a step towards her.

Alessa looked at Hawke and her companions, and seemed to find some courage. “Let go of me.” She shrieked, pushing at him, and stumbling to her feet, she ran past Hawke and out of the room. When Gascard made to go after her Hawke stepped in his path, blocking him.

“She’ll go straight to the city guard.” He protested. “They’ll ruin everything!” 

Hawke could feel Aveline bristling behind her and held up a hand to stop her saying anything. She turned back to Gascard. “Let’s say I believe you. That you’re not the killer. Tell me about him.”

“He’s a powerful and experienced blood mage. I believe he uses the women for some ritual. His victims are attractive healthy women with few social ties.” 

All things that she could have deduced on her own. He was keeping things from her, she’d bet money on it.

“And what’s to stop me from reporting you to the Templars for blood magic?”

“Yes, I’ve used blood magic and lyrium to augment my powers.” He admitted. “ I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I had to. He took my sister.” 

She stared at him, trying to decide how much truth was in his words. Her stomach was roiling and her head was beginning to throb from his proximity. What if Bethany had been the one taken? Would she resort to blood magic to find her? Another wave of nausea hit. She didn’t know. “Can’t you tell the guard what you told me?” she managed to get out.

He sneered at the idea. “Why? I don’t want him arrested. I want to be the one to bleed him dry.”

Now that she could believe. From the feel of him he wouldn’t hesitate bleeding anyone who got in his way. She looked at the others. Aveline and Isabela were looking at her expectantly. She felt a surge of irriation. Why in Andraste’s name did they always leave the final decision up to her? She turned and looked at Anders. She didn’t know what he was thinking but she could tell she must be starting to look as awful as she felt, because he had his concerned healer face on. She scowled at him, and turned resolutely back to DuPuis. He wasn’t the Kirkwall Killer. She was certain of it. She was also certain that he was rotten to the core. “It’s a nice story, but I don’t buy it.”

His face darkened with anger. “No. I’ve worked too hard. I won’t let it end like this!” One gesture and the Void seemed to break loose around them. 

Shade after shade, demons. Abominations. They chased DuPuis through his house, obviously following a carefully planned route. He blocked some doors with magical barriers, forcing them to go the way he wanted to him, herding them in effect, leapt upon by all manner of foul creatures until they finally confronted him in the large dining hall. They were forced to battle through and slay perhaps a dozen abominations before they finally managed to kill Du Puis. 

Anabel slumped over one of the tables. She kept her head bent down for a minute as the nausea finally faded before lifting it to look at the corpses littering the room. She turned to Aveline. “I’ll skip the clean up this time, if that’s all right with you, Guard Captain.” She said straightening up, and then winced. She’d managed to twist her knee dodging out of the reach of that last abomination and it was now throbbing painfully. All she wanted to do was go home and soak in a hot bath and then crawl into her bed. She’d go see Emeric tomorrow.

Aveline snorted. “As helpful as you were last time I reported to Bran? Go right ahead.” Hawke moved past her, doing her best to hide her limping. “And Hawke?” Anabel turned to face her. “Thank you.”

Anabel gave her a weary smile. “You’re welcome, Guard Captain.” She limped towards the door, giving another smile to Isabela, and ignoring Anders entirely. She’d be damned if she’d ask him for healing. She only made it a few steps passed him when he wordlessly picked her up and plopped her unceremoniously down on one of the tables.

“You are the most pigheaded little girl.” He said putting his hands on her knee and sending a pulse of healing magic into it. The throbbing stopped almost immediately. “You would have just walked out of here with your knee like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” She snapped back at him. “I would have. I’m pissed off at you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re pissed off at me?” He shouted. 

“Yes!” She shouted back. “It’s not like Sebastian wouldn’t have found out about Justice anyway! This way I could explain. Tell him how it happened.”

“You really think he’s going admit there’s any difference between me and these things?” He asked pointing at the corpses lying around them. “Maybe you should have brought him along tonight. Then he could have seen what a real abomination looks like.”

“Maybe I should have.” She yelled. “It would have been more enjoyable than watching you sulk all night. Oh, wait, I can’t because he hasn’t had anything to do with me since I defended you to him!” She jumped down from the table and stormed out of the room, leaving Anders staring after her.

“You really are an idiot.” Said Isabela coming up beside him.

“She defended me to him?” He asked.

Isabela just rolled her eyes. “Of course she did, you stupid man. Doesn’t she always defend the people she loves? ” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but followed Hawke out leaving him staring after them. 

 

 

Sebastian didn't learn the name of the Templar whose funeral Elthina was conducting until they were on the boat crossing over to the Gallows.

“Emeric?” he repeated, staring at the Grand Cleric.

“Yes.” She said, unaware of the turmoil that information was causing him. “He was a fine man. A fine example of all a Templar should be. I remember when he took his vows.” She’d only just been made Grand Cleric. There were few Templars left from those early days. “That his life ended this way is a tragedy.”

He tried to quell his growing feeling of dread. “I’m sorry, I should have asked before now. How did he die?”

Elthina looked at him in surprise. “I thought Hawke would have told you of it. They were working together to catch the Kirkwall Killer. Emeric was ambushed by all manner of foul creatures and killed. Hawke arrived too late to save him.” 

They arrived at the Gallows and Sebastian assisted Elthina out of the boat, standing at her side while she greeted the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter, performing his duties seamlessly but his mind was reeling. 

She must have gone to Gascard DuPuis’ house and confronted him. Found out something, something that had gotten Emeric killed. Something that could have killed her. Why hadn’t she asked for his aid? What had she been thinking? 

She'd been thinking that you were still angry about Merrill and Anders. She didn’t feel comfortable asking for your help. He cursed his own stubbornness that had put her at risk. 

The service was held in the courtyard of the Gallows. Sebastian sat on the raised platform at Elthina’s side, and spent most of it searching the crowd for a glimpse of Hawke. He knew she would be there. Finally, as the service was drawing to a close he spotted her flaming hair at the back of the crowd. She was alone, leaning against one of the stone archways. The officials on the platform stood for the final blessing and he saw her wander off through the archway leading down to the Gallows’ docks. The Templars began filing into the dining hall for the funeral feast, and he bent down and whispered his intentions to Elthina, who smiled and gave his arm an approving squeeze before joining Meredith and Orsino and proceeding into the hall. Sebastian turned and headed toward the dock.

He found her at the end of the pier, the wind blowing her hair back. She didn’t turn when he walked up to stand beside her, though he was certain she knew he was there. For a moment they simply stood next to each other looking out at the water.

“This is where we came into Kirkwall. Our ship docked right here. I sometimes wonder if the city would have been better off if we’d kept on going until the next port.”

“You can’t really believe that.” He said quietly.

She turned to look at him and he drew in his breath. A livid purple bruise stood out in stark contrast against the pale skin of her right cheek. Why hadn’t Anders healed that?

She didn’t appear to notice his reaction, just gave him a sad smile and looked back out at the water. “I couldn’t save him. I was too late.” 

Again. Though she didn't speak the word aloud he heard it as clearly as if she had.

“You aren’t to blame, Anabel.” He insisted. 

“I should have gone to see him right after I killed DuPuis. Or sent him a message. I was tired and upset, and I thought it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t important. That it could wait until the next day. I just pushed him aside the way everyone else had.” She turned to look at him, her eyes seeming even more luminous than usual. “The killer sent him a note signed with my name, did you know?” She looked out at the water again. “Emeric only went because he thought he was meeting me.”

“I wish you’d told me you were going to see DuPuis. I would have liked to have been there for you.” He finally said.

“I don’t think you’d have cared for it very much. There were more shades and demons than at the Harimann’s.” She attempted a light tone and it fell woefully flat. Sebastian’s heart ached for her.

He reached out a hand and brushed back a curl from her face before gently touching the bruise on her cheek. “I don’t like to see you sad.” He said softly. “It seems wrong. You should always be happy. Always laughing.”

She opened her mouth to respond with some smart ass remark and and found she couldn’t think of one. She swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. Sebastian didn’t speak, just reached out and pulled her to him, enfolding her in his arms. She tensed for a moment and then let herself lean against him. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear and when she inhaled she smelled incense and leather and whatever herbs were in the soap he always used and it all came together in that unique combination that was just him, just Sebastian, and for the first time in days the world felt right. She let one tear slip free, and quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry. For being so feeble. And for not telling you about Justice sooner.” 

“You were protecting your friend. I understand that.” 

“Yes.” She said, grateful that he had realized it. She tried to step back, but he didn't let her, keeping one strong arm wrapped around her and it seemed much more sensible to simply lean into his side, slipping one arm around his waist and letting the other rest on his chest, just letting herself find shelter there. His arm tightened around her shoulder, keeping her close. They stood there in silence for a moment, just looking out at the harbor entrance.

After a moment, he spoke. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I’m sorry you had to fight without me.”

“You needed time to think about it. To decide if it was something you could accept. I didn’t want to push you.”

“Yes, I did.” He agreed. “But I don’t like that you were at risk because of my reluctance. I trust you Anabel. I trust you to do what you think is right, though I might not always agree with it.” He looked down at her and frowned when he noticed the bruise again. “How did you get that bruise?” he asked.

Her hand rose to her cheek. She’d forgotten about it, had been ignoring the ache. “A shade. When I was trying to save Emeric.” 

“Anders wasn’t there to heal you?” 

She hesitated for a moment. “He’s not speaking to me at the moment. He’s angry I told you about Justice.” She looked out at the water again. “Merrill isn’t either. She’s still mad about what happened on Sundermount.” 

And he’d abandoned her as well, thought Sebastian. All three of them, when she needed all her friends with her. He rested his head lightly against hers. “I’m so sorry, Anabel.”

She shivered, thinking of the fight. “Emeric shouldn’t have died like that. Whoever the murderer is, he shouldn’t have won. We haven’t seen the last of him, you know. Killing Emeric means we were close. It means he thought there was a chance he was going to be caught. He’ll do this again. And I don’t have a clue as to where to go from here.” 

And the killer knew who Hawke was now. Would be watching her. His mouth formed a grim line. He wouldn’t abandon her again. He wouldn’t let this killer get anywhere near her. He would keep her safe. “We’ll find him. We’ll keep him from hurting anyone else.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Thank you. For being so nice.”

His eyes were filled with warmth. “It’s very easy to be nice to you.” He said. Her eyes were still sad and he tried to think of what he could do to change that. A smile curved his lips. “Have you any plans for the rest of the day?”

“I was going to mope, and feel sad and useless, but I’m open to a better suggestion.” She said with a hint of her usual spirit.

“Much better, I think. Would you like to visit the Chantry library with me?” He smiled in satisfaction as her whole face lit up.

An afternoon spent losing herself in one of the best libraries in the Free Marches with Sebastian at her side. She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Oh, yes.” She flung her arms around his waist, hugging him. His arms tightened around her and she could swear she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. When she looked up at him he was still smiling. 

“Let me just go and tell Elthina I’m leaving and we’ll head right there.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it and strode off to let the Grand Cleric know his plans.

He was completely unaware of the icy grey eyes watching them from the window above.

Petrice’s mouth curved into a tight smile as she watched him walk away. Perfect Brother Sebastian. A hypocrite like all the rest. She’d long thought he must have someone on the side, but she had never seen any proof of it until now. He’d unhesitatingly turned down her overtures, and yet was so obviously a sensual man. She had been certain it wasn’t going to waste. That the recipient of all that sensuality was Hawke only increased her ire. She hadn’t forgotten how the girl had ruined her plans, and it irked her that instead of fading into the obscurity she so deserved, she had risen to the top of Hightown society. Petrice would find the perfect way to use what she’d just discovered. Perhaps she'd be able to blackmail Sebastian into assisting her with the plans that were already in motion. Varnell was becoming a liability. She'd need to replace him soon.

She felt Varnell’s arms slide around her from behind. “You look like the cat that got the cream.” He said nuzzling her neck. “What are you plotting now?” 

She forced herself not to stiffen or pull away. She still needed him. For now. “You’ll find out soon enough.” She said forcing a seductive smile onto her face before turning in his arms to face him. She thought of the way Sebastian had held Hawke, caressed her face and she shivered a little imagining those hands on her. “For now you can take me to a deserted corner of the Gallows. Somewhere you can show me how you’d treat me if I were a helpless mage attempting an escape.”

She’d take her time. This information was too valuable to waste carelessly.


	11. Just a Hunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finds one of Tahrone's Tomes in the Viscount's Keep, and unwittingly reveals more than she should.

Isabela was still laughing as she and Hawke left the barracks. 

Anabel was just shaking her head. “Three goats and a sheaf of wheat? Where on Thedas is that a dowry tradition? Have you ever heard of that?”

“I’ve heard of something involving three goats, but it didn’t have anything to do with dowry traditions.” The pirate said with a leer. 

She almost asked what Isabela meant by that, but stopped herself just in time. “Why was Donnic looking at me like that when I invited him to the Hanged Man?” she asked curiously.

Isabel gave her a disbelieving look. “Oh kitten, you’re almost as bad as Aveline. He thought you were making a play for him.” 

Anabel stopped in her tracks. “He did not.” She denied. “Did he? Why would he? It was your party I invited him to. Celebrating your birthday.”

“Which is turning out to be the best birthday ever, by the way." Isabela seemed overjoyed. "First Lady Man-Hands, flailing about in some bizarre courtship ritual she’s concocted. Then you, obliviously propositioning a guardsman.” 

Anabel looked dismayed. “Oh, Maker. You don’t really think he thought I was interested in him, do you?” 

Isabela just shrugged. “Probably. Have you even spoken to the man before today? And suddenly there you are, hanging around the barracks giving him copper reliefs of marigolds, and inviting him to spend the evening with you in disreputable taverns. What’s a red blooded man supposed to think?” She commented linking her arm through Hawke’s as they walked up the stairs into the Keep. 

Anabel shook her head. “I will never figure this stuff out. Do you think Aveline knows how truly desperate she must be if she’s asking me, of all people, for help with her love life?”

“Well if she didn’t before, I’m sure she does now.” Said Isabela, with a happy sigh. “I couldn’t have asked for a better present.” They left the barracks and entered the main hall. As always, it was filled with people, most of whom were giving Isabela’s scantily clad form highly disapproving looks, accompanied by none too subtle judgmental whispers. Isabela appeared not to notice, just continued speaking, adding in a slightly louder voice, “The only thing that would make me even happier would be if I could strip you stark-naked, and rub scented oils over your enticing little body before ravishing you senseless. You know how I do love to see you glisten.” 

All conversation instantly ceased. Heads turned to stare in fascinated horror. 

Anabel turned pink and grabbed Isabela by the arm, yanking her behind one of the pillars. She glared at the woman. “I cannot believe you just did that. And you wonder why my mother dislikes you. You are a bad, bad, wicked woman.” 

“And what has our Pirate Queen done now?” Asked a voice behind her.

She turned to find Sebastian walking towards them, an easy smile on his face. Her eyes lit up but she kept her expression stern. “Oh, nothing much. Merely compromised my already dubious reputation by loudly sharing one of her delusional fantasies with half the Keep.” She explained, giving Isabela a disapproving look. 

Isabela appeared completely unchastened. “Doesn’t have to be a fantasy, Kitten. It could be a perfectly marvelous conclusion to my birthday celebrations.” 

Hawke scowled at her. “Quiet you. You’ve caused enough trouble.” She turned to Sebastian giving him a real smile this time. “I didn’t think I’d see you today.” She’d fully expected that his duties at the Chantry would be keeping him busy. They’d ended up spending most of yesterday together, after all. He’d helped supervise the installation of the fountain in her garden, and then stayed offering some ideas as to what trees and flowers might be added to it. He’d ended up staying to dinner as well, much to Leandra’s delight, and they’d then stayed up late into the night talking in front of the fire in the library. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Your mother told me you were here seeing the Guard Captain. I thought you might have need of my aid.” 

She smiled stupidly up at him, utterly lost in the blue of his eyes. He’d been a quiet, steady presence by her side since the day of Emeric’s funeral. Barely a day went by that she didn’t see him. Not that she was complaining. Not in the least. She welcomed it, in fact. It was wonderful to have someone she could lean on. Figuratively, of course. She hadn’t actually leaned on him since that day in the Gallows, though she was fairly certain that if she needed that he would offer it as well. Not that she would impose on him in that way. He wasn’t hers to have, she repeated to herself. “You know I’ll always take your aid when it’s offered.” She said a little breathlessly.

He smiled down at her. “And you know I’ll always offer my aid.” She was looking particularly enchanting this morning, Sebastian thought, her bright curls escaping the thick braid that lay over her shoulder, her eyes, surrounded by those dark lashes, seemed bluer than usual in spite of the deep green leathers she wore. The jacket was unfastened revealing the fine linen shirt beneath, and he could see she wore his locket. 

Isabela watched the two of them and rolled her eyes. “Ugh. You two make my teeth ache.” 

They turned in surprise when she spoke, as if they’d forgotten she was there. They looked back at each other, still smiling. 

Sebastian hadn’t intended to seek her out today, but when he’d strolled past her house on his way back from the Market, he hadn't been able to stop himself from knocking at the door. When a smiling Leandra had informed him that Aveline had sent for Anabel, he hadn’t thought twice before quickly running up the stairs to the Keep. Keeping an eye on Anabel Hawke was proving to be an almost full time job. He’d never met anyone who did so much. No job or favor seemed to be too small for her. He’d seen parts of Kirkwall and its surrounding areas that he’d never even heard of, even after living here for over a dozen years. To his surprise Elthina didn’t seem to have any objections to his spending so much time with Hawke, in fact she’d encouraged him, suggesting he relinquish some of his more mundane responsibilities at the Chantry.

“So what did the Guard Captain need from you. Bandits? Carta? Coterie?” He asked.

“Something much more frightening. “ Hawke replied, her mouth curving into a small smile. “It’s kind of sweet actually. Turns out Aveline’s got a crush one of her guardsmen, Donnic, and she’s having trouble letting him know. She’s asked me for assistance. And because I apparently have no sense at all, I agreed.” 

“She’s left out the part where Donnic thinks she has the hots for him.” smirked Isabela.

Anabel scowled at her. “He does not.” She turned back to Sebastian. “He really doesn’t.” She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.”

“Well since you don’t appear to need my aid, might I take you ladies to lunch?” He directed the words to both of them but his eyes were firmly fixed on Anabel. 

“I know a place that serves the best lunch in Kirkwall. And it’s right near here.” Isabela suggested, her eyes innocent.

“We are not taking Sebastian to lunch at The Blooming Rose.” Anabel said firmly, before Sebastian could even ask where.

“But it’s my birthday.” Isabela pouted. “Besides. All sorts of things there to help you glisten.” 

Anabel gave her a despairing look. “Maker, no. And stop that. What is it with you and glistening?” Isabela grinned and opened her mouth to answer and Anabel quickly added, “Don’t answer that.” She shook her head at the woman before turning back to Sebastian. “She’s impossible today. Thinks the fact it’s her birthday means that she gets to be even more incorrigible than usual.”

Sebastian looked over at the Rivaini woman. “The party and presents you’ll no doubt be receiving tonight aren’t enough for you?” he asked the pirate.

Isabela just smiled knowingly. “Darling Sebastian, when will you learn that nothing is ever enough for me?” 

“Hawke!” a voice shouted. Hawke turned her and spotted the Viscount’s son coming out of the reception area near the throne room.

“Saemus!” Her pleasure in seeing him was plain in her voice. She quickly crossed to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” He looked well. Tan and fit, and somehow more at ease.

“I’ve been spending most of my time at the Qunari compound, talking with them.” He explained. “I’ve even gone with them on a few of their patrols, helping them map the coastline. Oh you should see it Hawke. They have the most amazing maps and books.”

“And is it working?” She asked eagerly. “Our diplomatic offensive? Are they becoming more receptive to the idea?” As she spoke she became aware of something prickling in the back of her head. She glanced behind her. The door to the reception rooms. She frowned wondering what she could be feeling that was in there. Some magical item displayed for show? An enchanted ring, or belt, or charm? She tilted her head trying to get a better feel of it. No. None of those. An apostate, perhaps, hiding his magic, who’d found work in the Keep? She tried to focus on what Saemus was saying.

He seemed cautiously excited. “I think they are. I don’t want to give any details, but something might be happening soon.”

“That’s wonderful.” She said trying to ignore that strange pull from the other room. The feeling was growing stronger now that she was paying attention to it. Magic, definitely. Not a mage. Not an echanted ring or amulet. It felt bigger than that. More powerful. 

Powerful magic, in the Keep. Probably not good.

In the reception rooms? Or in throne room? She tried to keep an attentive look on her face while she took a couple of steps backwards, trying to get a clearer sense of what was in there. 

There. That sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Definitely magic, definitely not the good kind. She couldn’t keep from looking over her shoulder at the door.

“You still there Hawke?” She looked back to find Saemus looking at her with a questioning smile on his face. Sebastian was watching her as well, but with a perplexed frown. 

She smiled brightly at them both. “Sorry. Thinking of something. You know, Saemus, I’ve never seen your father’s throne room. I don’t suppose you’d show it to me?”

“I suppose I could.” Saemus seemed confused by the request. 

She looked expectantly at him. 

“You mean now?” he asked in surprise.

Another brilliant smile. “Now would be perfect.” She said grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the doors without a further word. She flung them open, ignoring the stares of the staff working in the antechamber. She paused for just a moment her frown deepening and crossed to the doors at the opposite side, that led to the throne room itself, and threw them open. The others hurried to catch up with her. She was stood at the doors for a moment looking carefully around.

She was looking for something, Sebastian realized. 

She turned slowly to look at the benches along the wall, which were piled with books. She pointed at them. “What are those?” She demanded abruptly.

Saemus was looking at her strangely. “Books?” he suggested. She gave him a withering glance. “I don’t know. When my father’s not holding court sometimes overflow books and papers end up in here before they’re put away. You’re acting very strangely, Hawke.” 

“Yes, well, you know how it is.” She said absently, and abandoning any attempt at normalcy she crossed to the books.

Sebastian gave Isabela a puzzled look.

She just shrugged. “She’s strange about books.” 

He frowned. This wasn’t Anabel’s enthusiasm for books. This was something else entirely, and not something good, he realized. “Stay here.” He told Saemus.

Anabel gingerly moved a few of the books and then stopped, staring down at one she’d just uncovered. 

Sebastian walked up beside her, looking carefully at her. Her expression was wary, her whole body stiff. 

She just stared at the thing. Small, bound in dark leather, completely unornamented and oozing dark magic. Blood magic. One of Tahrone’s tomes, definitely. How the fuck had she gotten it into the Keep? 

“Anabel?” Sebastian asked softly.

She wished Anders was closer than Darktown. And that they were on better terms right now. They’d run into each other a few times at the Hanged Man since that day they’d killed Gascard DuPuis, and had been civil to each other, but she hadn’t been to his clinic, and he hadn’t used the key she’d given him. 

She could really use his advice right now. 

“Anabel!” said Sebastian more sharply. 

She looked up at him, startled out of her thoughts. 

“Are you all right?” He asked carefully. 

“Oh sure.” She said looking back at the book. He wasn’t even sure she was really hearing him. “Could you go and get Aveline?” she asked. 

“Of course.” He said more confused then before.

“Hawke, what’s going on?” called Saemus. 

The Viscount’s son was in here, she suddenly remembered, and he should definitely not be around this kind of stuff. The realization seemed to rouse her. “Saemus, you should go.” She cut him off when he began to protest. “Saemus I’ve just found something very nasty and dangerous, and definitely not something the heir to the throne should be exposed to.” She gave Sebastian a beseeching look.

He didn’t know what she had found, or how she had found it, but he’d learned to trust her instincts on these things in the last few weeks. “Come, Saemus.” He said over the boy’s protests.

“Sebastian?” she called over her shoulder.

He turned to look back at her. 

She was staring apprehensively at the book again. “Make sure Aveline is armed.” 

 

He left Saemus with Bran, knowing the seneschal would make sure Saemus didn’t try and return and then sprinted to the barracks.

Aveline looked up in surprise when he walked into her office. “Prince Vael?” and then she noticed the expression on his face. “What is it?” she asked, getting to her feet.

“Anabel’s found something in the throne room.”

The Guard Captain didn’t hesitate, just grabbed her shield and sword and followed him out barking orders at two guardsmen to follow them. When they arrived back, she gruffly ordered everyone out of the reception rooms, and leaving the guards at the door, they walked into the throne room. 

Hawke had moved to the center of the room, the book in her hand. Isabela was lounging on the steps, though she got to her feet as he and Aveline walked in. 

“Hawke.” Aveline called out.

“Guard Captain." Hawke said with a tense smile. "Do you remember our friend Tahrone?”

Aveline’s mouth formed a grim line. “All too well. This is one of them?” She asked gesturing at the book.

“I’m pretty sure of it.” Hawke glanced up, noticing Sebastian’s baffled expression. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. You must think I’m quite mad. Tahrone was a blood mage we took care of years ago for the Knight Captain." she explained. "Templars were going missing and it turned out Tahrone had developed bit of a taste for them. I found out just recently she’d written down some of her less wholesome spells and experiments and used demons to bind them into books.”

She said it so casually, he thought with wonder. “So if someone tries to use the book, demons will be released?” He asked trying to understand.

A frown creased her brow, as she stared at the book in her hands. “I think it’ll only happen when I try and destroy it. I’m not certain though.” She admitted.

“Do we need more guards?” Asked Aveline.

Hawke worried her lip for a moment, considering the question. “No. I think the four of us can handle it. I’d rather keep this quiet, if possible. Meredith hardly needs more encouragement to crack down on mages, and the last thing we want is people going looking for the other books.” 

Aveline left to instruct her guards, and Sebastian watched Anabel carefully. “Are you certain you're all right?” he asked. She seemed a bit pale.

She looked surprised at the question, and then gave him a grateful smile. “Yes. I’m strangely used to this sort of thing. What does that say about my life?” She said wryly. Her gaze returned to the book in her hands and her face grew serious. “It's just that I’m not quite certain how to do this. Destroy it, I mean. Stab it? Seems an odd thing to do to a book, as if it has a heart or something. Tear it? Burn it?” 

“You don’t know?” He said in surprise.

She gave small snort of laughter. “Please. Most of the time I’m making this stuff up as I go along. But it’s nice that you think I know what I’m doing.” She said absently. After a moment she announced decisively, “Tear it I think. Less chance of setting the Keep on fire.” She looked up as Aveline rejoined them.

“Where do you want us?” asked Aveline. 

“Sebastian, if you could cover me from the stairs. Aveline, by me, in case something tries to stop me. Isabela, just fast a deadly strike, wherever you think you’re needed.”

Sebastian moved to the stairs regretting for once that he was a ranged fighter. He didn’t want to leave her side. He reached for an arrow, a determined expression on his face. Nothing would get near enough to touch her. 

They got into position, and Sebastian watched as Anabel took a deep breath and flipped open the cover of the book, giving a little shudder as she did so, but nothing happened, nothing appeared. 

“All right. So it’s definitely a defensive spell, then. On three, then: One, two, three.” On three, she tore the book suddenly, and a deafening screech filled the room. Four abominations rose around Anabel. She ignored them and kept tearing pages. Isabela quickly eliminated one and Sebastian fired several arrows in succession into another. Aveline knocked the next down with a rapid series of blows from her shield and then thrust her sword through its side as it tried to rise up again. That left just one.

Anabel was still tearing pages from the book, letting the pieces fall to the ground around her. The last abomination moved towards her with a roar and before he could fire off a shot at it Isabela had leapt in front of it. “Someone needs a good spanking!” She taunted. The creature snarled at her and lunged. She easily ducked out of its reach. “My grandmother fights better than this!” She said, backing away. It snarled and moved after her, leaving Anabel free to finish her destruction of the tome. 

Sebastian released a volley of arrows into its chest as Aveline came at it from the other side, thrusting her sword deep. It fell to the ground and didn’t move. The sudden silence was deafening.

A relieved smile lit up Anabel’s face, and she let the remaining pages fall to the ground in front of her. “I thought that would be so much worse.” She said taking a step towards them. She suddenly froze midmovement and Sebastian saw her eyes widen in fear. 

A thick black haze rose from the remnants of the book lying on the floor in front of her. It solidified into a tall, ominously dark, armored figure that towered over Anabel, blocking her from their view.

“Oh, crap.” Sebastian heard her mutter. He glimpsed her backing slowly away, drawing out her daggers. 

With an unholy shriek the demon lashed out suddenly and she was thrown back, skidding along the floor of the throne room as she landed, though as far as Sebastian could tell the demon hadn’t actually touched her. It was one of those that Anders had talked about at the Harimann’s, he realized, one that used magic. He didn’t wait to see if she got up but began firing arrow after arrow. Aveline went charging at the thing, holding it almost immobile with her shield. Isabela darted in and around it stabbing fiercely. The creature lifted its arms preparing another spell and suddenly Anabel was there, sailing over its head, landing in a crouch in front of it and spinning quickly, while thrusting both her knives up and into its heart. She twisted, and pulled them out and quickly rolled out of the way as it came crashing to the floor.

Anabel pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the corpse. She nudged it gingerly with the toe of her boot, before looking up at her friends with a grin. “Huh. Apparently ‘I thought that would be worse’ is one of those phrases like ‘what could possibly go wrong’” She commented, “I’ve really got to stop saying things like that.” She bent down to gather the torn pages together, and Sebastian knelt to help her.

“Anabel.” he asked.

She turned to him, a questioning smile on her face.

“How did you know? How did you know the book was here? How did you know which one it was, out of all the books piled there?” he asked. It was as if she’d sensed it was there before they’d even entered the room. 

“Oh. That. Yes.” Her expression was suddenly shuttered. “Just a hunch.” She scooped up the remaining pages. "Look, I need to go.” She said, reaching to take the pages he had gathered. “I should figure out how to dispose of all this." She said backing away as she spoke. "Thanks for the help." 

"Anabel..." he started to say, wondering at her reaction. She seemed frightened. Why would she be frightened?

"I’ll see you tonight at Isabela’s party.” She turned, and all but ran out of the room, leaving him frowning after her.

He started to go after her, only to have Isabela step in his path. "Oh, no you don't. Someone's taking me to lunch, and whatever you just said made my original lunch companion run off."

"Isabela..." He began, protesting.

"It's my birthday." She said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I know the most marvelous Rivaini place down by the docks. It's just like home." 

He opened his mouth to object and she said, not unsympathetically. "She'll be at my party tonight. You can talk to her then."

He looked down at her. He couldn't figure Isabela out. She liked to pretend she didn't care about anything but her own pleasure, and yet spent most of her time helping out Hawke. Eventually he gave her a resigned smile. "All right. Lunch it is. But only because I hear it's your birthday." 

 

Anabel charged through her house, not even acknowledging Bohdan’s greeting and headed straight for the sub-basement and the stairs down to the Undercity, almost dizzy with panic. _Shit_. She hadn’t even thought to hide it. She’d just barged into the throne room. _Shit_. She jumped to the ground before she’d even reached the bottom rung of the ladder and pushed open the door without even checking if there was someone out there. _Fuck!_ What was wrong with her today? Fortunately, the area was deserted and she raced to the door of the clinic, her eyes scanning the people in there for Anders.

She spotted him in the back talking with a patient.

"Anders!” She went running towards him.

He looked up when she called his name, and she must have looked as panicked as she felt, because as soon as he saw her face, he started moving towards her, meeting her in the middle of the clinic.

What’s happened?” he demanded. “What’s wrong.” She looked so frightened. Her eyes were huge in her face. “Are you hurt?” He asked frantically.

"No.” She managed to get out. “But I fucked up. Maker, I totally fucked up.” 

She was actually shaking, he realized. He put his arm around her, and led her back to the storage room closing the door behind them. He sat her on the chair and crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Calm down, Hawke. Just breathe. Slowly. In and out.” 

She tried to follow his orders, and felt the panic recede a bit. 

He was watching her intently. “Tell me what happened.” He instructed.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, trying to keep her voice calm. "I found one of Tahrone’s books. It was in the Keep. In the throne room.” 

"In the throne room? Why were you in the throne room?” Maker, please let her not have done something in front of a filled throne room, in front of the Viscount and Seneschal. 

“I wasn’t in the throne room. I was in the main hall. I felt it.” She gave him a worried look. “I followed it.”

He couldn't help cursing. “Damn it, Hawke.” He pushed to his feet and began pacing.

“I couldn’t help it. It was strong. Dark. And so powerful. I had to find it. Destroy it. It was in the middle of the Keep! I couldn’t just leave it there. I fucked up.” She repeated. She began to tremble again and he knelt down in front of her, taking her hands once more.

“Who was there. Who saw it?”

“Isabela, and Saemus. But I’m not worried about them. Isabela wouldn’t care even if she did notice something, and I can make up something for Saemus that he’ll believe. Aveline came later, but she never asks questions about things like that.” 

“So who are you worried about?” He asked. There were Templars in the Keep. Had one of them noticed something? Would she remember which one?

“Sebastian was there.” She was gnawing nervously on her lip. “He asked questions. He knew something was strange." She suddenly launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him. "I’m so sorry, Anders.” 

His arms went automatically around her. “It's all right." he said in a soothing voice. "We all slip up sometimes, sweetheart. It will be all right.” He didn’t care what he had to do for that to be true.

“Not for that.” She mumbled into his chest. “For telling Sebastian without warning you first. I didn’t know how it felt. That punch of absolute terror when you realize someone knows. I’m so sorry.” 

His arms tightened around her and he closed his eyes. Maker. He’d wanted her apology. Wanted her to realize how wrong she’d been, but he hadn’t wanted her to learn it this way. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He said, stroking her bright curls. “It’s all right.”

She shook her head. “It’s not. I’ve been around apostates my whole life. How could I not have realized how it must feel?” 

“Hush.” He said and he held her tightly until her shaking had stopped. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, and sat her in the chair.

"Tell me what Sebastian said, exactly, if you can.” He said carefully.

"He asked how I’d known the book was there. How I’d known which one it was.” She shook her head. “There were piles of books in there. I just walked up and started going through them until I found it. I didn’t even think.” He could feel her panic starting to grow and he took her hands again.

"And what did you tell him.”

“I said it was just a hunch and then bolted like a rabbit.” She gave him a slightly embarrassed look that he couldn’t help laughing at. 

“Oh Hawke. I’m not sure how long you would last if you actually were an apostate.” 

"I would have argued that before today, but you may be right.” She admitted ruefully.

"It’ll be all right.” Anders said, pushing to his feet. 

She looked into his amber colored eyes. “Are you just saying that?” she asked.

“No. If he hasn’t turned me or Merrill in yet, he certainly won’t turn you in for having ‘a hunch’. You might have been right about him being one of the good ones." Andraste's Ass, he hated admitting that. "And besides…” his voice trailed off. 

“Besides?” She prompted looking up at him. Her eyes looked more green than blue. They always did when she was upset. 

_Besides, he adores you, he’d never turn you in._ That was what he’d been going to say. Instead he just said. “He’s too polite to pursue it. Unless you pull a stunt like that again, I think he’ll ignore it.” 

She caught her lip between her teeth and thought a moment. “You think I could be that lucky?” she asked hopefully.

"I think it’ll be all right.” He repeated. “Now tell me about Tahrone’s book.” 


	12. Done Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone celebrates Isabela's birthday at the Hanged Man, and Isabela receives an unexpected gift from Hawke.

Sebastian walked into the Hanged Man that evening not sure if he would be early or late. Anabel and her “gang”, as she called them, were always disconcertingly vague when it came to time. He had been much the same way when he was younger, but thirteen years in the Chantry, where every action was dictated by the Chantry bells had changed that. He paused by the entrance, looking around to see if anyone was already there, or if he was the first to arrive. Spotting Anabel seated at a table by the bar with a guardsman he didn’t recognize, he started towards them, but was stopped when someone grabbed him from behind. 

“Don’t you dare interrupt this.” Isabela’s voice hissed at his ear. 

He twisted around trying to look at her. “Isabela? What on Thedas...” 

She spun him around and pushed him over to a table in the corner, where Merrill, Varric and Fenris sat, before shoving him none too gently onto one of the benches.

“Choir Boy.” Said Varric in greeting, as if there were nothing odd in Isabela’s treatment of him. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Varric." Sebastian replied. "Can I ask why we’re all seated here and Anabel is over there? Who is that with her?” 

“That’s Donnic, the one Aveline wants in her pants.” Isabela explained eagerly. “Hawke arranged for Donnic to meet us here tonight so Aveline could talk to him outside of the Keep, only Aveline hasn’t shown and Hawke’s been stalling Donnic for almost an hour, now.” Isabela didn’t take her eyes from Hawke and Donnic. 

Sebastian looked over at the table. He had never seen Anabel look so uncomfortable. Her cheeks were pink; she kept awkwardly smiling at the guard, who was regarding her with great suspicion. It was almost painful to watch. 

“She’s getting desperate." Said Isabela. "It’s hilarious.” Sebastian opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off before he could utter a word. “It’s my birthday.” She warned him. “Don’t ruin it for me.”

“I’m not sure how much longer that argument is going to carry weight, Rivaini. You’ve already used it for free drinks from half the bar.” Varric said with a smirk.

“As well as to keep us from stopping Hawke making a fool of herself.” Scowled Fenris.

Isabela snorted. “Too late for that.” 

Just then, Donnic stood up, apparently to leave, and Sebastian could see the panic on Anabel’s face. “No!” She said, far too loudly. “Stay. Sit.” Donnic looked even more apprehensive, as she called for another round. She looked back at the guard, a strained and artificially bright smile on her face. Donnic just stared at her. Norah brought their ale, and they drank it in silence, looking anywhere but at each other. 

“I don’t think they’re having a very good time.” Merrill commented with a small frown. "Are you sure we shouldn’t go over and help?” 

“Absolutely sure.” said the pirate.

“Isabela.” Said Sebastian.

“It’s my birthday.” She said without turning from looking at the table. “Ooh.” She suddenly cried out in a delighted voice. “Look. Captain Man-Hands is here.”

They turned to see Aveline stalking determinedly through the door of the Hanged Man.

“A sovereign says she can’t do it.” Said Isabela. No one took the bet.

Aveline looked around with the same fierce expression, but it vanished instantly when she saw Hawke and Donnic sitting there. 

Anabel happened to glance up at that moment, and relief flooded her face, only to disappear just as quickly as Aveline shook her head in a panic, and fled up the stairs in back. Donnic looked over his shoulder to see what had caught Anabel’s eye and not seeing anything turned back to her looking even more puzzled. She gave him a helpless smile which faltered at his expression, and Isabela laughed out loud.

Sebastian shook his head at her. “You truly are a wicked woman aren’t you?” 

She gave him an easy leer. “You have no idea.” He started to speak, and she held up her hand in warning. “No preaching please. It’s my birthday. Oh, Maker, she’s ordering more ale. She’s going to be drunk before my party even starts!” She winked at Sebastian. “I may get that birthday present from her after all.” 

He tried to look disapproving, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. He’d actually enjoyed his lunch with her. She’d kept up a steady stream of stories designed to make him blush or preach, he wasn’t quite sure which, and had seemed pleased when he’d done neither. He’d walked her back to the Hanged Man and just before they’d gotten there she’d suddenly announced, “She’s not, you know.”

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Hawke. She’s not what you’re thinking.”

He’d frowned, wondering how she’d known what he was thinking about. “And what might that be?” He’d asked, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

“She’s not a mage.” Isabela had said bluntly. “She’s got her secrets, but that’s not one of them.” She’d turned and walked into the Hanged Man, calling over her shoulder. “See you tonight, Your Highness. And I expect a gift. Don’t try and weasel out of it just because you bought me lunch.” 

He was brought back to the present when Donnic abruptly stood up and said something to Anabel that made her blush crimson right up to her red hair, before he turned and walked out. Isabela was laughing and actually clapping her hands in delight. Sebastian shook his head, and getting to his feet, quickly crossed the tavern. 

“Oh please tell me you weren’t watching that fiasco.” Anabel said, looking positively mortified, as he walked up beside her. 

“Just the last bit. Is there nothing you won’t do for your friends?” He teased with a sympathetic smile.

“Apparently not – up to and including making a complete ass of myself. I don’t know how I constantly get myself into these situations.” She said ruefully, looking up at him and promptly losing her train of thought at sight of that smile. Maker he was beautiful. Even with the backdrop of the Hanged Man behind him. “Hi.” She said, suddenly breathless.

“Hello.” He said, his eyes twinkling. 

“I’m sorry I ran off earlier. I know I must have seemed like a lunatic. There was a reason, truly. It’s just…” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Despite Anders’ belief that Sebastian wouldn’t mention what had happened earlier, that she shouldn’t offer any explanation, she found herself wanting to tell him. It just felt wrong to keep things from him.

His eyes were kind. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Anabel, and no need to explain.” 

He didn’t know how she had done what she had in the Keep earlier, or what had caused her to flee like that, but it was plain that, whatever it was, revealing it frightened her.

Isabela hadn’t been wrong. His first thought had been that she was a mage, that the skill she’d used to find that evil tome was, in fact, magic. And Isabela had been right about Anabel having secrets as well. After he’d left the her at the Hanged Man, he’d gone back to the Chantry and prayed, wondering all the while what she was hiding, what she was so afraid of, and if it were something that he would be unable to overlook, though the Maker knew he was already overlooking some very questionable things because of Anabel Hawke. He had come here hoping that at some point during the evening he’d have the chance to speak with her about it, but standing here, looking at her, seeing the apprehension and a hint of the fear she’d shown earlier, he realized it didn’t matter to him.

Whatever this secret, it was a part of her, a part of what made her so exceptional. He could wait to find out what it was, wait until she trusted him enough to want to share it with him. And in the meantime, he could and would protect her, keep her safe from whatever it was that frightened her so. 

She looked at him in surprise and not a little relief. “You are the nicest man. I know I keep saying that, but you just keep proving it true. I don’t know why you put up with me and all the chaos I seem to cart along with me, but I feel very lucky that you do.” She’d been certain he’d demand an explanation, or at the very least, persist in his questions. But instead he just smiled at her with those blue, blue eyes. _Bluer than all the heavens_. The phrase from her storybook suddenly echoed in her mind. He was everything she’d daydreamed about since the time she was a little girl.

And he wasn’t hers to have. 

He saw the sudden pang of sadness in her eyes but before he could question it, the expression had changed as she looked past him. 

“And now you show up?” She said, in an accusing voice. He turned to see Aveline approaching them, a sheepish expression on her face.

“I couldn’t do it.” She said helplessly as Isabela practically skipped up to them, still looking delighted. Aveline gave her a warning look, before turning back to Hawke and asking, as if she were unable to help herself, “What did he say?” 

“He thinks I’m interested in him.” Said Hawke. Isabela positively crowed with delight earning her a glare from both women. “Yes, yes, you were right, are you happy now?”

“Kitten, I’m ecstatic.” The pirate said smugly. 

Anabel frowned before deciding to ignore her and turned back to Aveline. “He also told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t attracted to me in the slightest. Said he preferred someone more direct. Someone with a backbone, were his exact words, I believe.” 

“I’m an idiot.” muttered Aveline.

“Yes, well admitting it is a good step.” Hawke said, but her expression softened when she saw how miserable and resigned the older woman looked. “So where do you go from here?” 

Aveline gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, the barracks. Fereldan. The deepest hole I can find.” 

“Oh, Aveline. It can’t be that bad.” 

“I freeze up. The only place I’m not a mess is on patrol. And there’s no opportunity for conversation while you’re killing highwaymen.” 

“And here come the excuses.” Said Isabela, giving her an exasperated look.

“I will not risk…” Aveline began to say.

“Risk it.” Ordered the pirate, pointing a finger at her. “Or so help me, I’ll bed the man myself.”

Aveline’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“That’s it.” Anabel said suddenly. At Aveline’s perplexed looked she explained. “You’ve come up with the solution yourself, Guard Captain. You and Donnic go on patrol together.”

“But I just explained…” Aveline started to say, before Hawke interrupted her.

“No, you don’t understand. I’ll go on ahead and clear the way. There won’t be anything for you to fight. You two can just talk.” She grinned at Aveline, pleased with the solution. Aveline looked dubious, and a little scared. “You can see if he’s the one. Go on. Arrange it.” Anabel coaxed.

Aveline looked like she was trying to think of an argument against it, but then a reluctant smile appeared on her face. “You’re too good at this, Hawke. Is it any wonder you’ve all but taken Hightown?” She took a deep breath. “All right. You clear the coast and I…” She swallowed hard. “I’ll think of something to say.”

Hawke smiled and nodded approvingly. “Good.”

“It’s about time.” Said Isabela. “Birthday.” She reminded them. “Presents and booze. Now.”

 

Varric had rented out the Hanged Man for Isabela’s birthday celebration, and had invited…well, everyone, so in point of fact it was much like any other night at The Hanged Man, but the drinks were free. Isabela greedily opened her presents. A kit for caring for her blades from Fenris. A week on Varric’s tab at the Hanged Man. A bottle of Starkhaven whiskey from Sebastian that had made Isabela raise her eyebrow in surprise. 

“I would have thought you’d have given me a book of sermons or prayers of repentance, or some such thing.”

“I prefer to give gifts that the recipient might actually have a use for.” He commented dryly, though there was a twinkle in his blue eyes that made Isabela look at him twice, wondering if the roguish prince he claimed to have been was quite gone for good. 

Merrill had knitted her a scarf in a fuzzy blue yarn. “Winter will be here soon, and I thought you might get cold since you don’t have pants.” 

“I love it sweet thing. Very thoughtful.” Said Isabela, wrapping it around her neck several times to keep it from dragging on the floor. 

“It’s a bit long. I just got carried away while I was knitting.” Merrill looked slightly woebegone.

“It’s perfect sweet thing. All sorts of uses for a scarf this long.” she reassured the Dalish elf. “Hawke’s going to let me show her some of them later on.”

“Really?” Asked Merrill looking at Hawke in surprise.

“No.” said Hawke. “Here’s my present.” She handed Isabela a card. “A certificate for one ‘Madame Lusine Special’ at the Blooming Rose.” Isabela squealed in delight and tried to grab it, but Hawke held it just out of reach adding. “Which you only get on the condition that you promise to never, ever tell me what the ‘Madame Lusine Special’ is.”

“Thank you Kitten. Though of course I won’t need it if you’re spending the night with me.”

“You’ll need it.” Hawke commented dryly, lifting her glass and taking a sip. 

Isabela pouted. “But it’s my birthday.”

Anabel raised her glass in a toast. “Happy Birthday. It’s still not happening.”

She finished her ale as Isabela unwrapped Aveline’s not so subtle gift of trousers, and then frowned. How many ales had she had? Two with Donnic. Or three? So was this her third or her fourth? She couldn’t quite remember. She wondered if Sebastian would disapprove of her getting drunk. Perhaps she should stop before she did. She turned to look at him and the room seemed to spin a bit as she did.

Perhaps it was a little late to make that decision.

Sebastian was watching the expressions playing over her face. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you would be horrified if I got drunk.” She admitted.

He just gave her that easy smile of his. “Are you likely to do something horrifying?”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Well, I’m not planning on it.” 

“Then it’s doubtful I’d be horrified.” He said.

“Well that’s good.” She said, a small smile curving her lips. “Because it also it occurred to me that I might be already. Might already be.” She corrected. “Drunk, I mean. Just a little.” Or more than a little, she thought, wincing inwardly. 

She was adorable like this, he thought looking at her as she tried to push a stray curl out of her face. It immediately fell back. She reached up and pulled the ribbon out, running her fingers through her curls, trying to bring some order to them. He was surprised at the effort it took not to run his own hands through it. It was such a wild mass. One couldn’t help but think of how it would look in the midst of lovemaking spread out on the bed beneath her. Well, he couldn’t help thinking of it, at least. “It’s a celebration.” He said, in an effort to distract himself. “I don’t think getting just a little drunk is out of order.”

She gave up trying to tame her hair and let the ribbon drop on the table in front of her. “I had more ale than I meant to sitting with Donnic. I just couldn’t think of anything to say, which really doesn’t happen too often, and then he kept trying to leave, so I just kept ordering more drinks.” She said, offering a glimpse of her dimple. 

“Given Isabela’s interest in your companionship tonight it might be best if you didn’t have much more.” He suggested.

Anabel glanced over at her. “Oh, Izzy’s just teasing. She’s done it as long as I’ve known her, even when she was with Carver.” 

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I hadn’t realized they were together.”

“Well, it’s not really something that comes up in conversation, is it? Hi, how are you? Say, did I ever mention that my brother used to boink that pirate who likes to proposition me and fondle my boobs whenever the opportunity arises?” She realized what she had said and blushed pink. 

He had to hide his smile. “Were they together long?” He asked, looking at Isabela.

“Just a few weeks. But they were strangely suited to each other. She stole a boat when she found out what had happened to him, and just sailed off. We didn’t see her for almost a month. Then she just turned up at the bar here, as if she had never left. She never did tell me what happened to the boat.”

Isabela’s ears pricked up. “Did someone say boat?” 

“The one you stole from that fisherman.”

“Oh that. Wrecked it in a storm near Ostwick. Now what were you saying about boobs?”

“Just mentioning that you’re unduly fascinated with touching mine.”

“I knew you thought about it. So how much ale will it take for you to let me fondle them properly?” she asked.

“I’m not certain there’s enough ale in all the Free Marches.” Hawke said with a twinkle in her eyes, as the others laughed.

“Norah!” Isabela called. “We need more ale here.” 

As usual, Norah ignored her. “I’ll get it.” Said Anabel pushing to her feet. Before Sebastian could offer to assist her she was already at the bar. He watched her thinking she lit up even the Hanged Man. _She lit up a room when she entered it_. He heard his grandfather’s words, and thought once again how appropriate it was that Anabel wore his grandmother’s locket. He turned back as Merrill suddenly sat down beside him.

“If your city was stolen, why didn't you just call the guards?” She asked abruptly. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and he suspected she was a little drunk as well. 

“I'm afraid the matter can't be handled by guards, Merrill.” He tried to explain.

“Aveline could help you! She's very good at making thieves give things back.” She said looking over at the Guard Captain. “I think it's because she's so tall.”

He couldn't help smiling. “This is beyond even Aveline's power, I'm sorry to say.” Would that the whole thing could be handled so easily. 

Merrill raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Have you seen her hit people?"

Aveline looked over at them. “I can hear every word you're saying, you know.” 

Merrill turned back to Sebastian. “You see? She’s a very good guard. She’d get you back your city in no time.”

 

Anabel leaned against the bar and closed her eyes waiting for Corff to fill the order. The room was definitely getting a bit unsteady. She felt a touch on her arm and opened one eye to find Anders standing beside her. 

“There you are.” She said with a lazy smile. “Corff, my darling, add another ale to the order, would you?” She said over her shoulder, before turning back to Anders. “You missed me making an ass of myself with Donnic.” She informed him.

He gave her a knowing look. “Aveline chickened out?”

“How is it everyone expected that but me? I just sat there like an idiot guzzling ale after ale trying to keep him from leaving. It’s never a good idea to be drunk before one of Isabela’s parties even begins, you know.”

He gave her a wary look. “How drunk are you?” he asked. “Just so I can prepare myself.”

She gave him a withering look. “I’m not that bad.”

“No, of course not." He gave her a teasing smile. “Tell me again about the view from the top of the vhenadahl tree.” 

She returned his smile with a scowl. “That was only once.” She pointed out.

He glanced at the table where the others sat, his eyes lingering on Sebastian. “So, Sebastian turned up, I see.” He commented before turning back to Hawke. “Is everything all right?”

She gave him a happy smile. “It’s perfect. Just as you said it would be. He hasn’t asked anything about it.”

Anders wasn’t certain if he was happy or unhappy about it. Part of him had hoped that it might cause the prince to end his association with Hawke. “Good. I’m glad.” It was only partly a lie. Corff finished with the order, and they carried the drinks back to the table together.

“You’re late. Where’s my present?” Isabela demanded as soon as they walked up.

“It’s nice to see you too.” He said, reaching into his coat and pulled out a piece of parchment. “One no questions asked, no judgment given healing.”

“Ooh.” Squealed Isabela. “So many useful gifts today. Well except for Aveline’s.” She said, laughing at the guard captain’s disapproving frown.

“Yes, well Hawke told me what her present was. You’ll probably need the healing.”

Anabel sat down across from Sebastian since Merrill now occupied her seat. “Why would my present….” She shook her head suddenly. “No, never mind. I really don’t want to know.”

“You don’t.” Agreed Anders.

“Hawke is finally going to sleep with me tonight.” Isabela informed Anders.

Anders raised an eyebrow at Hawke.

“No, she’s really not.” Hawke reassured him.

 

The evening went on and more alcohol was consumed. Much more. Sebastian sat in the corner, watching. He suspected he and Anders were the only ones anywhere close to sober, but he was enjoying himself just watching Anabel who was definitely drunk now. It was always interesting to see how alcohol affected different people. Merrill had gotten quiet and big-eyed, and was staring at everything around her. Varric’s stories became even more improbable, and Isabela’s even filthier. Fenris wasn’t very drunk, but he expected the elf would become more dour the more he drank. Aveline got very red in the face, and looked more stern. And Anabel. He watched her with a smile. Anabel was a happy drunk. She laughed more, hugged more, touched more, as if she simply couldn’t help herself. She was flushed with drink, and laughing merrily each time Isabela insisted her birthday would be utterly ruined unless Hawke finally agreed to sleep with her.

“You lack subtlety, Rivaini.” Said Varric. “Start smaller. Ask for a kiss.” 

Isabela scoffed. “A kiss. A kiss is a thank you for passing the whiskey. It’s not a birthday present.”

Sebastian spoke up from where he had been leaning back against the wall, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. “On the contrary. A kiss done right can easily outshine a quick tumble.” 

Isabela looked at him almost wistfully. “Oh I wish I’d known you when you were the wicked prince. I think you’re full of shit,” She added, as everyone laughed, “but I would have appreciated the effort to prove otherwise.” 

“I think he’s right.” Hawke piped up suddenly. Her eyes met Sebastian’s and she couldn’t look away from the warmth she saw there.

Isabela’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, look at you, all wide-eyed hope and innocence. As if you would even know.”

Because she was facing him, only Sebastian saw the flash of hurt on Anabel’s face, a hurt she quickly covered up. 

She turned back to Isabela. “Just because I don’t have a lot of experience doesn’t mean I can’t agree with the sentiment.” She said, a little defensively.

“You think a handful of kisses makes you an expert on the subject? All right, Hawke. I’ll take a kiss, then.” Isabela looked at her expectantly.

Anabel blinked at her. “What?”

“For my birthday. I’ll take a kiss. Done right, if you please.”

“I didn’t mean from me. I just meant in general.” Anabel said, sounding completely panicked.

“What?” said Isabela. “Not up to it? You are a tease.” 

“I wasn’t teasing.” Anabel tried desperately to figure out how she’d gotten herself into this. “I just meant…”

Isabela cut her off. “Afraid you might like it?” 

“Don’t be silly.” Hawke scoffed.

“Ah, then you’re afraid you couldn’t live up to the claim?”

Damn it. How was it Isabela only seemed to get sharper the more she drank, whereas she got more easily befuddled. 

Isabela was watching her and looking delighted. “It’s all right. As inexperienced as you are, it probably wouldn’t do a thing for me.” 

Hawke flushed but gave her a scornful look. “I’m not that easy to goad into things. Even when I’ve had more ale than I should.” 

Isabela ignored that. “It’s fine. I know you don’t have any experience. You don’t want you to feel like you let me down. Especially in front of everyone. Kissing someone with as much experience as I have would be too intimidating. It’s a perfectly natural reaction to back away. You don’t have it in you to fake it.”

“That’s not true.” She insisted, realizing even as she spoke that in spite of her earlier denials she was letting Isabela goad her. “I could so fake it.”

The pirate scoffed. “Please kitten.” She said, and Varric laughed.

Anabel looked at him in surprise at the sound.

“It isn’t really your thing, Hawke. You just sort of froze when Choir Boy kissed you.” Varric pointed out.

She blushed and looked anywhere but at Sebastian. She hadn’t frozen, she wanted to insist. Whatever the opposite of freezing was, she’d done that. Melted? Ignited? But saying that out loud would sound ridiculous. And be utterly embarrassing. She looked around at her friends. Varric and Isabela were grinning, Merrill was looking curiously at her, Aveline was looking outraged on her behalf, Fenris looked uncomfortable, and Anders was looking down at the table and wouldn’t even meet her eye. 

They all believed it, she thought. That she wasn’t a passionate person – not sexually passionate anyway. Thought she couldn’t manage a kiss that, as Isabela liked to put it, would curl someone’s toes. That just because she hadn’t yet had sex at the ludicrous age of twenty-three, that she never thought about it.

Naïve innocent untouched Hawke. Fun to tease. Easy to make fun of. Certainly not someone who would deliberately tempt you or tease you. And apparently not someone who they expected had any sort of talent for it, judging from their reaction.

Sebastian watched the emotions play over her face, his irritation with her companions growing by the moment. He wasn’t surprised that her innocence had been confirmed. He was surprised that they teased her so casually about it and failed to realize that it hurt her.

She felt herself growing angry. “You don’t think I could do it, do you?” She pushed out of her chair and got to her feet with a determined gleam in her eye.

“Hawke.” Said Aveline in warning.

“It’s all right Aveline. After all, it is her birthday.” Her mouth curved in a small smile.

Sebastian looked around. Everyone had the same slightly stunned expression, he noted trying to hide a smile, while at the same time a part of him wanted to cheer her on. 

“I’ll make a deal with you Captain Isabela. One kiss, done right, and then you stop pestering me about sleeping with you?”

Isabela looked amused. “All right.”

Hawke walked over to her and gestured to the arm of the chair she’d just vacated. “Sit.” Isabela looked confused. “Sit. You’re too much taller than I am. I need you at face level.” With a smirk Isabela leaned her hips back against the arm of the chair which brought them roughly to the same height. 

“Your hands stay at your side, understood?” She grabbed her hair ribbon from where she’d left it on the table, and tied her hair back into a pony tail.

“Ooh, I love it when you get all masterful, Hawke.” taunted Isabela, delighted that the girl was playing along. 

Hawke saw the teasing look, and had a moment of utter panic. What the Void was she thinking, doing this? And doing this in front of everyone? Shit. She would never live this down. It was going to be a disaster. Utterly humiliating. What had she been thinking trying to impress Isabela, of all people, with her kissing skills? She’d only kissed three people. Alfie Barlin she dismissed immediately. Anders had initiated both of the kisses they’d shared, she had tentatively followed his lead. She didn’t think Isabela would be that generous. This kiss would be entirely on her. The third... She glanced at Sebastian. He was looking back at her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes long enough to read his expression. Her gaze fell to his mouth. That kiss had been different. Yes, he had started it, but she had more than met him halfway... Had run her tongue along those beautiful sculpted lips. Had felt him respond. Had responded in turn. That had been the kind of kiss he had been talking about before. 

What it were Sebastian she were about to kiss right now? What would she do? Her eyes lingered on his mouth.

“Having second thoughts, Kitten?” Isabela’s voice broke through her reverie.

She turned to face Isabela and there was a small but utterly confident smile curving her lips, and a look in her eyes that made the pirate look at her in surprise. “Hush.” She said softly, placing a finger lightly on the pirate’s mouth. She held it there a moment and then delicately traced the outline of her upper lip. “Don’t speak.” She said in a low tone.

The table suddenly became very quiet. 

Hawke bent forward and then stopped mere inches from Isabela’s mouth. Tilting her head slightly, as if carefully considering her actions, she raised a hand and lifted Isabela’s chin up slightly. Leaning forward, she brushed her full red lips gently against Isabela’s, and catching Isabela’s pouty lower lip softly between her own, she tugged gently, just enough to part them. She pulled at the upper lip in the same way. Her pink tongue gently ran the same path that her finger had just traced, following the curve of Isabela’s upper lip. Her hands came up to cradle the pirate’s face and her mouth closed over Isabela’s, biting and moving, using tongue, and teeth and lips, tasting, exploring, moving her head to change the angle and direction of her mouth. Isabela’s hands fluttered up, obviously wanting to pull Hawke closer to her, and then she remembered the rule and her hands clenched into fists at her side as she moaned out loud. Hawke slowed her movements and slowly pulled back letting Isabela’s lower lip slide through the light bite of her teeth, before she released it. 

Isabela opened her eyes and stared at Hawke, stunned, her eyes dark with desire. “Hawke, I…”

Anabel leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Happy Birthday, Isabela.” She said stepping back. She looked around.

Everyone was staring at her open mouthed. She looked at them triumphantly, well pleased with the response. _Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?_ She thought, her mouth curving into a satisfied smile. 

There was moment of stunned silence, and then Varric let out a wolf whistle and began applauding. The others joined in, as did most of the patrons of the Hanged Man.

“Oh that was a lovely kiss, wasn’t it?” She heard Merrill say to Aveline. “It made me feel all tingly.”

Aveline gave the elf an appalled look. “You can keep that to yourself.” She instructed.

Anabel couldn’t help it. She started laughing. Giggling, actually. She gave Isabela a quick one armed squeeze. 

“Well, I think we all need a drink after that.” Varric commented. “Blondie, give me a hand?” Anders got up without a word and followed the dwarf to the bar.

It took Isabela a moment before she was able to speak. “You’ve missed your calling.” She said, unable to quite accept that Hawke, of all people, had managed a kiss like that. “I could make a fortune off you. How on Thedas did you pull that off?” 

“I have a vivid imagination.” Said Hawke, a little smugly.

“Well anytime you want to share what you were imagining, I’d be more than happy to hear it.” 

Anabel chanced a quick look over at Sebastian, who was sitting in the darker corner. His face was in shadow, and she couldn’t see his expression. 

Isabela noticed the look and her eyebrow raised. She pushed herself to her feet. “Fenris.” She called to the elf. “Let me guess what color your underclothes are.” She demanded walking over to him.

The elf looked startled. “To what purpose?” He asked with a frown.

“It’s my birthday.” She said, as if it were the obvious answer. 

Anabel barely heard them. She could feel her cheeks suddenly flaming. She’d made out with Isabela while Sebastian was sitting just across the table from her. A brother of the Chantry. Maker, why didn’t she ever think before she did things? She couldn’t even see if he was looking at her. “I’m sorry. I did say I wouldn’t do anything horrifying, didn’t I?” She said, attempting a light tone. 

“It’s not horror I’m feeling, Anabel.” There was something in his voice that she'd never heard before. It sounded rougher somehow. He leaned forward, out of the shadows. The blue of his eyes seemed unnaturally bright in the dim light of the Hanged Man and for just a moment she saw a flare of something that made her breath catch in her throat. 

Heat. Passion. Unmasked need. 

Everything seemed to slow. 

She must be seeing it wrong, she thought, even as her breath began to come faster. A trace of her earlier bravery lingered though, and instead of looking away, she looked back at him, letting her eyes show every emotion she’d been hiding from him since that day in the Chantry garden.

Sebastian saw it with a thrill of triumph, and for just a moment they stared at each other, recognizing it, acknowledging the pure physical longing, the want, the pull of desire that existed between them.

He wanted her as surely as she wanted him. That couldn’t be right, Anabel thought in sudden confusion, and she had to look away. She must be misreading it. When she managed to look back his eyes were their usual serene blue, his features composed. He smiled at her, showing nothing but the affection and warmth that was always there. 

She smiled shyly back at him, her heart still pounding.

“Sit with me.” Sebastian said quietly and wordlessly she slid onto the bench beside him. 

Without looking he reached over and took her hand in his, savoring the feeling of her fingers wrapping around his palm. 

He’d almost slipped, had almost given in. The sight of her kissing Isabela…. Kissing. A feeble word for what she done. She’d savored her. Devoured her. Had made everyone watching her want to feel those ridiculously sensual lips of hers on theirs. But it hadn’t been that which had almost undone him. 

She’d been thinking of him when she kissed Isabela. He’d bet his life on it. The way she’d looked at him just before turning to Isabela with such utter confidence -- she’d been thinking of that kiss they’d shared. Thinking of how she would kiss him now if she could. If he’d let her. And then, just now, with one look she’d shown him that she desired him as much as he desired her. 

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to shield her from it, from the chance that if he let go, if he let himself have what he so wanted, that he would once again become that careless hedonist who used and discarded anyone he wished. Protect her from the chance that he would use her, or worse still turn her into the same kind of creature.

He looked so grim suddenly. “Is everything all right?” She asked tentatively, desperately wanting the answer to be yes.

He looked at her staring at him with those spectacular blue-green eyes. A trifle uncertain, but warm, and utterly trusting. Trusting him. He wouldn’t betray that. He smiled reassuringly. “It is.” He said. Andraste only knew if that were true. 

“You’re sure you’re not secretly appalled with me?” She asked, tilting her head as she asked the question.

“Quite sure.” He lifted her hand to press a kiss on the back it, before lowering it back down. He didn’t let go of it. 

Anders scowled as he watched them from the bar. He couldn’t see their hands from where he stood, but he was sure they were still touching. 

“You’re not going to start shooting lightning are you?” Asked Varric, watching his friend’s face carefully.

Anders ignored the question. “When did he kiss her?” He demanded. The hypocritical chantry prig.

“Choir Boy? A few weeks ago.” 

“How come no one said anything?” 

“Nothing much to say. She had the hiccups. We were trying to surprise them out of her. He managed to do it.”

Anders stared at him blankly. “He kissed her to get rid of her hiccups?”

“What, you thought there was another reason?” Asked Varric, before grabbing some drinks and walking back to the table. “Get the rest of those, would you, Blondie?” He called over his shoulder. 

Anders stared at the Prince for a moment, before gathering the rest of the drinks and returning to the table. He couldn’t figure the man out.


	13. Three Qunari Leave an Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attempt to establish diplomatic relations with the Qunari goes horribly wrong, bringing Hawke face to face with an old adversary.

Hawke leaned against the railing by the Viscount’s office, eying Seneschal Bran. She’d just returned home from the Wounded Coast when a note requesting her immediate attendance at the Viscount’s office had been delivered. Thinking that ‘immediate attendance’ meant just what it said, she’d rushed to the Keep without even bothering to change or clean up, and had been standing here for almost twenty minutes, waiting. Bran refused to answer any of her questions as to why or when she was going to see the Viscount.

“So. Are we waiting for anything in particular?” She asked him.

He glanced up from the papers he’d been looking over. His gaze took in the dusty brown leather armor, the scuffed boots, the red hair fastened into an untidy knot at the nape of her neck, and an actual smudge of dirt on her cheek. She hadn’t bothered to dress or even clean herself up before seeing the Viscount, he thought with a sniff. “Were you addressing me, Lady Amell?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “You know I was. And it’s Hawke. Just Hawke. Not Amell. And as I think you’re well aware, not Lady.”

Bran didn’t reply, just returned his attention to his papers. She sighed and pushed herself up onto the balustrade, carefully avoiding the iron spikes that lined it, wondering idly if they had been put there as a defense, or specifically to keep people from climbing on it. From the disapproving look the Seneschal was now giving her, she suspected the latter. She ignored him and sat there, swinging her legs back and forth, wondering if he would actually say anything about it.

He didn’t, and after a moment returned to his reading.

She started to whistle, and he looked up again, with a definite frown this time. She let the note trail off. “Sorry. I whistle when I’m bored.” The frown deepened, but again he didn’t say anything, just looked through his papers. 

“Actually that’s a lie.” She said suddenly.

He looked up, a hint of annoyance showing. “Excuse me, Lady Amell?”

“Just Hawke. No Lady. No Amell.” She corrected again. “That I whistle when I’m bored. It’s a lie.” 

He just stared at her. “Is it.” He said in a clipped voice that implied he was utterly uninterested in the matter.

“It is.” She grinned at him and pulled her legs up to sit cross legged. She didn’t say anything more. 

Eventually, he returned to his work.

“I sing actually.” 

He sighed this time, and looked up again. “Do you.”

“I do.” She said happily. 

After waiting to see if she would say anything more, he turned back to his work.

“Awful songs. Absolutely filthy. My mother despairs of me.”

He looked up at her. “Does she.” He said, sounding as if he could easily believe it.

“Constantly.” She said with another grin.

He stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he cautiously returned to his papers, but didn’t read them, just waited for her to interrupt again. When after a minute she hadn’t, he resumed reading.

“Have you ever noticed that the really filthy songs are always happy, rollicking ones? As opposed to the love songs, which you would think would sound happy, but are usually sad?”

He felt his jaw clenched. “I have not.” He didn’t even look up this time.

“You’d think if filthy songs led to promiscuity, and an eventual eternity in the Void they’d write some dirty ones that were, I don’t know….more cautionary. Sad and gloomy, instead of so much fun to sing.”

“I am pleased to say I given the matter no consideration whatsoever.” He said, with a look that cowed most men in Kirkwall.

She seemed oblivious to it, and continued to prattle on. “Someone should write lyrics about, oh, I don’t know…a dock worker and a prostitute who have rousing but unsafe carnal relations and who are forced to end it when both of them contract a particularly nasty, disfiguring, and ultimately fatal sexual disease.”

He could feel the tips of his ears turning red, whether with anger or embarrassment he couldn’t have said in certainty. Did she have no concept of proper conversation?

“I wonder if I could do it.” She asked in a thoughtful voice.

“I’m sure I don’t know.” He said through clenched teeth, silently praying that she wouldn’t continue with this topic. How one of the finest families of Kirkwall had been reduced to this chit of a girl... 

She remained quiet for a few blessed moments and he was just offering a silent thank you when she gave a loud sigh.

“It’s no good.” She said, shaking her head. “The only rhyme that I can come up with is ‘ooze’ and ‘booze’. I can’t think of a single one for ‘unsightly rash’ or ‘special ointment’.” 

Bran’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her and she smiled sweetly back at him, innocently blinking her large blue green eyes. 

His face sagged with relief as he spotted someone behind her. “Thank Andraste.” He muttered.

“My apologies, Seneschal. Your messenger arrived in the middle of the service and I needed to change into more suitable attire before I came.” Sebastian said, as he hurried towards them.

Hawke jumped lightly down from the railing. “You mean we’ve been waiting for Sebastian this whole time?” She asked Bran in an accusing voice. “You should have just said. I thought you were putting me off. I wouldn’t have been nearly so horrible if I’d known we were actually waiting for someone.” She smiled up at Sebastian. “I’ve been being awful to Bran.” She confessed, not sounding in the least bit remorseful.

Sebastian took in the Seneschal’s frown and the redness of the man’s ears, but couldn’t help smiling at her. “Truly awful, or just mildly so?”

She pretended to give it some thought. “I’d have to say truly.” She looked over at Bran. “Truly, yes?”

Bran’s ears went even redder and he ignored the question. “I shall inform the Viscount that you are both here.” He said stiffly.

Anabel smiled as he stalked off.

“You shouldn’t tease him so.” Admonished Sebastian.

“He’s so unapologetically pompous. The true marvel is that I don’t tease him more often.” 

“He’s the Viscount’s seneschal, one of the most important men in Kirkwall. He deserves respect if only for the title.” 

She scoffed at the idea. “No one deserves respect just for a title.” She said with a saucy smile that he couldn’t help returning. 

How he managed to not kiss the corner of her mouth where that dimple appeared every time he saw it was a source of constant wonder for him. “As I suspected. A radical.” 

She just laughed in response, and he felt his heart swell with happiness at the sound. His eyes ran over her slender form, taking in the dust on her leathers and boots, and the smudge of dirt on her cheek. He pulled out a handkerchief. “You’ve some dirt on your cheek. May I?” He offered.

She flushed at the knowledge but rolled her eyes. “Yes, please. Small wonder Bran was glaring at me.” 

He took her chin in his hand and gently wiped the smudge away. “And what have you been up to already today that’s gotten you in such a state?”

“Boy and I went up the Wounded Coast getting some things for Solvitus. I’d only just gotten back when Bran’s note came. Silly me, I didn’t realize that an urgent summons from the Viscount meant be sure and change and make yourself presentable before you get there. I just rushed straight here thinking my showing up was more important than what I was wearing. I don't think I'll ever figure out this whole noble thing.” she admitted.

He tucked the handkerchief away and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not entirely certain I want you to. You remind us of what’s important, where our priorities should be. We sometimes need that reminder.” 

She laughed merrily. “That’s me. Cutting through the bullshit of Kirkwall since 9:31.” 

“Anabel.” He said in a warning voice.

She looked up at him. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t swear here, but honestly it’s Kirkwall. Cutting through the bullshit of this town is a full time job. They should create a special title for it. The ‘Discoverer of Bullshit’, maybe. Or ‘She Who Cuts Through Crap’.”

“Anabel.” He repeated more urgently.

“What about ‘The Excrement Detector’? Though in truth that sound more like a job you’d find at a farm. Bran would never go for it. Maybe if we translated it into Tevene it would sound suitably pompous. I don’t suppose you know how to say ‘bullshit’ in Tevene, do you?” She asked, looking up at him. He was looking directly behind her and seemed to be trying very hard not to smile. “Bran’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.” 

She closed her eyes briefly and turned to face Bran who was looking at her with utter disdain. “Right.” She stared at him for a moment as if considering. “There’s basically nothing I can do to redeem myself in your eyes at this point, is there?” She asked him.

His expression remained unchanged. “The Viscount will see you now.” He led them into the Viscount’s office and announced. ”Prince Vael, and Serrah Hawke, my Lord.” 

Hawke rolled her eyes as she walked past him. Well, at least he wasn’t calling her Lady Amell anymore, she thought, trying to hide her smile. 

She turned to greet the Viscount and the smile immediately disappeared at the expression on his face. “What’s happened?” She asked, ignoring the protocol that she should be waiting for him to speak first.

“Disaster.” He said simply. “And it had been going so well. Saemus had worked wonders. There were overtures of cordialness. I was certain your plan would be successful. And now this.” He shook his head. 

“Marlowe, what’s happened?” Asked Sebastian, repeating Anabel’s question. 

“A Qunari delegate and entourage came to visit. It was civil. Tentative, but hopeful. And now they are missing, quite literally from my doorstep.”

Hawke heart sank, but she didn’t hesitate. “We need to get out in front of this, and fast.” 

The Viscount rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I feel like I've been trying to turn a stamped for some time now. Someone is pushing very hard.” His voice was weary. “What do you suppose the Arishok’s reaction will be?” His gaze went between the two. “I can’t trust anyone else with this. Speak to Bran.” He urged. “He has details which show just how damning this is.” 

Hawke and Sebastian quickly left his office to find Bran. How could things have gone so spectacularly wrong? Hawke wondered as they walked up to him.

Not five minutes into the conversation she had her answer. 

She stared at Bran, dumbfounded. “You ordered their weapons bound?” She repeated back at him.

“Even I know you cannot separate a Qunari from their weapon. It seemed a reasonable compromise.” 

_Idiot_. She thought. “That still doesn’t explain how they just disappeared with no one seeing it.”

Bran turned those ever so careful eyes to her. “It could not have escaped the notice of the city guard. Unless they were involved.”

“So you have suspicions then.”

“A number of recent recruits have failed to report for duty.”

“What does Aveline say about that?” Hawke said with a frown.

Bran remained silent.

Anabel stared at him in surprise. “You haven’t told her? You can’t seriously think she would be involved in this.”

“We have had issues with the guard before.” He said quietly.

“So you decide not to trust the very person who revealed those ‘issues’ to you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Trust me Seneschal; Aveline will be the first person to get to the bottom of this.”

“The Viscount has given you autonomy to recruit who you wish on this matter.” Said Bran.

Anabel glared at him. “Are you ever not careful about what you say?” She asked, not bothering to hide her irritation with the man.

“Has anyone reported this to the Qunari?” Asked Sebastian.

The neutral expression vanished and Bran looked positively horrified. “Maker, no. I’d be signing the messenger’s death warrant. He’ll find out soon enough, of course. And when he does the Viscount is duly concerned that the illusion of peace will dissolve.”

Sebastian frowned, thinking of the Arishok’s outburst the last time Anabel had spoken to him. “Do you think it some plot of the Qunari?” 

Bran seemed relieved to speak to him. “Would the Qunari stoop to trickery? The Qun holds them in check. There’s certainly no precedent for such behavior, while there is evidence of influence on our side.” 

She looked at him in surprise. Bran taking the side of the Qunari? Plus, he’d known about their weapons, and now this. “You’ve researched this. The Qun. The Qunari.”

He looked offended that she would have believed otherwise. “That is my job Lady Am…Hawke.” 

She watched him for a moment before saying. “I owe you an apology, Bran.” 

It was his turn to look surprised. 

“I underestimated you. I thought you’d just blame the Qunari. But you’ve given this careful thought. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that.”

He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, but then inclined his head in acknowledgment of her words.

“You still sound like you would prefer they weren’t found.” She couldn't help adding.

“It’s my job to consider what is best for the Viscount. What has happened is known by only a handful. If it can remain hidden, all the better. Bringing attention to such an incident benefits no one.”

“One can’t simply pretend it hasn’t happened. To do that ends any chance at a relationship.” 

“The Qunari are neutral hostiles at best. There is no relationship to salvage.” 

“The fact that they sent the delegate and that they allowed their weapons to be bound proves how far they were willing to bend.” She argued, before giving a sigh and making the decision to let it drop. They simply didn’t have the time to spare. “So where would you start, if you did want them found?”

“With the most obvious. It’s clear the city guard must have had some involvement, even if it were simply looking the other way. Look for those who have failed to report. Though where you would find someone so eager to sell his honor and duty, I’m sure I don’t know.” He said with deliberate casualness.

Anabel looked at Sebastian and sighed. “The Hanged Man.”

“Even I know that.” Said Sebastian.

Bran gave a satisfied nod. “Then you know what to look for. I can’t imagine this has occurred without notice. There’s always a weak link.” He hesitated, before adding. “Please keep it as quiet as possible. The Viscount is under enough scrutiny as it is.” 

“Of course.” Said Anabel. “Thank you, Bran.” She and Sebastian turned to leave.

“Serrah Hawke.” Bran called after them.

She turned back to face him.

“ _Stronzate_.” He said.

She blinked at him in confusion.

“The Tevene word you were inquiring about earlier. _Stronzate_.” He disappeared into his office without waiting for her response.

Anabel couldn’t help a small smile as she watched him leave. “He truly cares about the Viscount, doesn’t he?” She asked Sebastian.

“Yes. And about Kirkwall.” 

“He’s doing what he thinks best for them. I feel foolish for not having realized that before now. Varric had said much the same thing to me years ago.” She looked up at Sebastian. “I still want to throttle him for the way he’s doing it though.” 

"You showed admirable restraint then.” He said with a smile.

She gave him a rueful smile. “No, I was frustrated and impatient and didn’t bother to hide it. So much for Hawke diplomacy.” 

“Do you want to go speak to Aveline?” he asked.

"Yes, but not just yet. I’ll bring her along to the Hanged Man tonight. The guard we’re looking for is more likely be there tonight. There’s no point in Aveline’s stewing about it all day.” She sounded distracted, obviously thinking about other things. “I’d like to swing by Fenris’ place and see if he can join us, and then we can pick up Varric before we head down.”

“Head down?” he asked, puzzled.

“To the Docks. I need to tell the Arishok what’s happened.” She strode off, not noticing his look of first surprise and then resignation as he realized there would be no dissuading her from this course of action.

 

The Qunari at the gate looked at them carefully before turning back to Hawke. “You are allowed _Basra_ , until the Arishok says otherwise.”

The Arishok watched them approach with a scowl on his already stern face. “What do you want Hawke? I have no interest in adding to my distractions.” He said, sounding like a father telling his child he had no time to play today.

“Your delegate and his guard are missing. I thought you should know.” She said simply.

Sebastian tried to hide a wince at her forthrightness. He turned to the Arishok trying to judge his response to the news.

The giant had gone still, the muscle at his jaw clenching, and his eyes narrowing as he looked at Anabel. “Anyone else and those words would have been their last.” He said speaking to her, completely ignoring the rest of them. He stared at her and she met his gaze without flinching. “You are handling this? Not your buffoon of a Viscount?” He said after a moment.

“As best I can.” She said calmly. Sebastian was close enough to her to see the pulse racing at her throat.

The Arishok settled back on his chair as if considering. “Then I will wait.” He said at last. “But know this.” He added, leaning forward. “The provocations we have suffered have worked. If this is not resolved I can fulfill my duty with far less annoyance by sifting through rubble.” He rose to his feet and left without another word. The fact that he hadn’t raised his voice made the words somehow more threatening.

"So, do this, or the city burns.” Said Sebastian grimly.

Anabel was staring after the Arishok. “Not here.” She cautioned and turning, walked swiftly out of the compound. She didn’t stop until they were at the top of the stairs to Lowtown well out of sight of the Qunari compound. “We need to find out what happened. Dammit. I should have spent more effort on finding whatever the hell it is the Qunari had stolen from them.” Now that she was out of sight of the Qunari she seemed unable to stay still, her agitation clear as she paced back and forth, nervously clenching and unclenching her fists.

“I don’t think anyone could accuse you of slacking off, Hawke.” Said Varric.

“Thanks Varric, but I haven’t really tried, have I? Maker’s sake, I’ve spent more time looking for Isabela’s relic than this thing!” She kicked viciously at a rock that lay in the road. “I just hope this missing guard shows up at The Hanged Man tonight.

“I’m assisting with evening service, but I can change that if you wish.” Sebastian offered. 

She gave him a grateful smile. “No need. Just join us when you’re through. I don’t think anything much will happen tonight.” 

Varric winced.

“What? I didn’t say ‘what could possibly go wrong?’.” She said with a grin.

 

That night they waited for the errant guard to arrive at the Hanged Man. As Anabel had predicted, Aveline was fuming. 

“You sure you don’t want a drink, Big Girl?” Asked Isabela, eyeing the pacing guard captain warily.

“No. I want to be completely sober when I tear this asshole a new one.” 

“That was almost poetic, Aveline.” Said Hawke. “Don’t you think so, Varric?” She asked, turning to him. He was looking at her apprehensively. “Well, that’s a serious look.” She commented.

“I’ve got some news. And you might not want to be near anything breakable when I tell you.”

She gave him an easy smile. “A good opening. Exciting, yet intriguing and mysterious.”

“Ancestors, will you stop being so nice?” he snapped. “You just make this harder”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Sorry.” He muttered. “I’ve had an ear out for Bartrand. After the Deep Roads he ran to Rivain. But I hear he might be back in Kirkwall now.”

She’d have thought almost three years would have dulled the rush of emotions she felt at his words. It wasn’t anger, or a desire for revenge, that hit her hardest. It was loss and pain, as if she were still in the Deep Roads watching Carver being carried off by the Grey Wardens. She tried to hide it, but Varric’s guilty expression told her she’d been unsuccessful. “Are you all right?” She asked him softly.

“After all he did to you, you’re asking if I’m all right? My no account brother is finally within reach. I’m ecstatic.” He said angrily. 

“You’re sure it’s him?”

“If my contacts are right, and they’re always right, he’s bought a mansion in Hightown. It makes sense. All his contacts are here, and there’s more of a market for that trinket he took.”

She shuddered at the thought of that idol. “You really think he’d risk it?” She asked. 

“I think we both know by now that Bertrand would risk anything for coin.” 

She nodded slowly. “We should pay Bertrand a visit. It’s been far too long. Let me know when you want to go.”

Varric looked relieved. “Thanks, Hawke.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, and she reached out and squeezed his arm, letting him know he didn’t need to. He patted her hand a little awkwardly.

“I think that might be our man.” Said Isabela suddenly.

Anabel turned to look. A weasely looking man dressed in clothes that were far too new, and far too fancy for the Hanged Man was loudly ordering drinks for all his friends, and waving a bulging purse as he placed his order. They exchanged looks, and crossed casually to the bar. 

Moments later, they were trying not to smile as Aveline lifted him by the neck of his shirt. “Who?” She demanded.

“What?” He managed to get out.

“Who?” She said, giving him a shake. “Who bought you? Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made you a drunken mabari bitch?” 

“I don’t know.” He cowered under Aveline’s glare. “He was a Templar. I don’t know who, I swear. He had the seal of the Grand Cleric and everything!”

Aveline’s glare didn’t waver.

“It’s true.” the man whimpered.

She let him drop to the ground, and stood over him, still glaring. “The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning.”

The man gave a whimper of agreement and fled.

Aveline scowled after him for a moment before turning to Hawke. “Well there’s your answer. A Templar.”

“With the Grand Cleric’s seal no less. Well done, Aveline.” Hawke said automatically, but her head was spinning. Elthina wouldn’t do this. It went against everything she knew about the woman. She needed to talk with Sebastian, needed to figure out what this meant. If she left now, she might make it before they locked the doors of the Chantry for the night. “I’ll head up to Hightown with you Aveline. It’s been a long day. Fenris, you want to walk back with us?” she asked giving him a deliberate look.

Fenris frowned, and then gave a nod, immediately picking up her hint and the three of them left the tavern together, over the protests of the others. They parted company with Aveline at Hawke’s door.

Fenris waited until the Guard Captain was out of sight before turning to Hawke. “We are going to the Chantry?” 

She gave him a grateful look. She never had to explain things to him. “Yes.” She said and began moving quickly toward the Plaza.

Fenris had to lengthen his stride to match her pace. “You wish to speak to Sebastian?”

“Yes. And the Grand Cleric. I want to see if she knows anything about this.” They were already at the stairs. 

He looked at her, noting her grim expression. “So, on the word of a drunk we are going to accuse the Grand Cleric of funding zealots?” He asked carefully as she pushed open the door. The evening service had concluded. Only a few candles were still lit. 

She continued into the Chantry. “And about the missing Qunari. Don’t forget that.” 

“Freedom was interesting while it lasted.” He commented dryly. 

She glanced at him, unable to keep a small smile from her face. He thought she was mad, no doubt, but he didn’t try and dissuade her or leave her side. Friends like that were rare. One of the sisters approached them, no doubt to tell them the Chantry was locking its doors for the evening.

“I need to see the Grand Cleric.” Hawke said before the woman could speak. “Tell her…” she thought for a moment. What would find her the person she was looking for? She smiled suddenly and looked back at the sister. “Tell her ‘three Qunari leave an estate’ and let her finish.” 

A strange look passed over the sister’s face, one she quickly tried to hide before she scuttled away. Hawke exchanged a look with Fenris and he gave a small nod. He’d noticed it too. She wondered how many in the Chantry were involved in whatever this plot was.

They didn’t have long to wait. The door opened and a tall woman with pale hair strode confidently into the nave. Hawke’s eyes widened as she recognized her.

“Serrah Hawke.” Her voice was still confident, and still self-righteous.

“Sister Petrice.” Hawke was unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She hadn’t thought about her in years. Foolish, in hindsight. Petrice. It made perfect sense.

“Mother Petrice.” Petrice corrected. She saw the flash of anger in the girl’s eyes at the news, though she hid it quickly. Her eyes went over Hawke’s slender form, taking in the changes, the elegance of her appearance. The girl was beautiful, she was forced to admit. “Time has changed us both.” She wouldn’t have considered her competition before. Hadn’t understood what Brother Sebastian had seen in her. This close it was obvious. Her lips thinned into a line. “Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do you want?”

Hawke smiled at her, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Funny how you and issues with the Qunari seem to go together.” She said, not bothering to hide her contempt.

Patrice’s nostrils flared. “And you always assume their side.” She snapped, before taking a breath, and carefully composing her features into a serene mask. “I was naïve when last we meant. I did not wish you dead, but I felt a death was necessary. You cannot deny you came out the better for it.”

Anabel stared at her, thinking of the karataam, of the Qunari needlessly slaughtered, of Katojan silently burning to death. All because of this woman. Better? She shook her head in disbelief. “You were a pain before but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“I am sorry.” Said Petrice, not sounding sorry in the least. “But I see no reason to let you pass.” 

“Let me pass? I wasn’t aware I needed your permission, Mother Petrice.” She made the new title sound like an insult.

“Anabel?” Sebastian came down the side stairs, wearing his armor, no doubt on his way to meet them at the Hanged Man. He moved quickly to her side, giving Fenris a quick nod of greeting which the elf returned. He took in the tension between the two women. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“The Grand Cleric’s seal was used to help kidnap the Qunari delegates.” Anabel said, no longer hiding her anger.

Sebastian looked at her in surprise. She couldn’t think that….”Elthina isn’t involved in this, Anabel.” 

Petrice quickly latched onto his words. “Ridiculous. The Grand Cleric leads many, but not as a commander.”

Hawke ignored her and turned to Sebastian. “I know Elthina wouldn’t do this, but a Templar used her seal to convince others the act was righteous. How many have access to it?” 

Sebastian turned his head and stared at Petrice, who lifted her chin defiantly.

Hawke made a tsking noise. “It sounds like you’ve been bad. This will shock her Grace, no doubt.” 

“You wouldn’t dare tell her.” Petrice said.

“You don’t think so? I doubt she would approve, and she will hear about it.” Promised Hawke. 

“The Grand Cleric trusts her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker.”

"The Maker’s wishes or yours?” asked Hawke.

Sebastian couldn’t help himself. “You gave the seal of the Grand Cleric to be used for this?” It was all too believable. Petrice, with her twisted hate-filled sermons ranting against the Qunari, with her questionable relationship with that Templar. Petrice, who believed that the end result always justified the means, no matter what it took, no matter who it harmed. And the pieces fell into place. He stared at Petrice. "It was you who convinced that elf to steal from the Qunari, wasn’t it?” He asked her.

Hawke whirled to face her. “That was you? You were responsible for the _saar-qamek_?”

Petrice gave her a thin-lipped smile. “I don’t even know what that is. I’m not as close to the Qunari as you are.”

Hawke shook her head in disbelief. “You truly feel no remorse what happened?” 

Sebastian thought of all the people who had died that night and looked at Petrice, his fury barely controlled. “I should have insisted on an investigation years ago, when those Templars were murdered. How many poor souls might still live if I had?”

Petrice watched Anabel’s eyes widen and go first to Sebastian and then to her, saw the quick flash of fear, and a satisfied smile came to her face. Varnell had been right. It had been that apostate with Hawke all those years ago. She looked at Sebastian and arched one brow. “Should you have? A trap was laid. The trap failed and the Templars were killed. But have you never wondered just who did the killing?” She turned and looked deliberately at Anabel.

Sebastian’s gaze followed and he looked to Anabel, his surprise and confusion evident on his face. “Anabel?” She lifted her eyes and met his gaze, but didn’t speak.

The foolish girl wasn’t even going to deny it, Petrice thought with delight. “Ask her. I don’t doubt she’d tell you the truth. Her kind always does.”

He barely heard the words. Anabel’s eyes were filled with remorse. Petrice had the right of it. Anabel had killed those Templars.

Petrice was watching him carefully. “She and her lover, that apostate. They were responsible.”

He couldn’t stop the flash of jealousy. Anders. Of course it would be Anders if murdered Templars were involved.

Petrice saw the jealousy, and her smile deepened. “Those brave Templars. Slaughtered, brutally murdered here, in the middle of the Chantry.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Said Anabel, her eyes pleading with him to let her explain.

“But you were here that night?” He asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

“Yes. Trying to save a friend of his.”

He realized she was deliberately not using Anders’ name. Still protecting him, he thought, with another twist of jealousy.

“When we got here we discovered his friend had been made tranquil already. We couldn’t save Karl. But I couldn’t let him be taken.” 

He recalled the tranquil mage whose body had been found that night, and the care with which it had been laid out. “Karl? That was his name?”

Anabel realized just how close Sebastian must have been that night. “Yes. Karl Thekla.”

“The Templars didn’t kill him.” It was a statement. He was remembering that one careful, yet lethal knife wound in the man’s body, the one that would have ended his life instantly and almost painlessly.

She shook her head. _Sweet Andraste, please let him understand_. “No. He was killed by his friend. Karl asked him for that. The same way Da asked me to kill him and Bethany if they were ever made tranquil.” Her voice stayed steady, but a single tear ran down her cheek.

Sebastian saw the tear, saw the pain and sorrow in her eyes and reaching down he brushed the tear away. He knew what doing that would have cost her, and wondered how her father could have asked that of her when she was still little more than a child. She stared up at him, her eyes pleading with him. “I am so sorry.” He said softly.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” She asked. 

“That you carried that burden. And that I doubted you for even a moment.”

She seemed to almost sag with relief before reaching up and to gently caress the side of his face. He caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm.

“Touching,” Hissed Petrice, knowing that her plan had failed. “Your belief in your lady love is inspiring. But will others be as easily persuaded were the story widely known?”

Sebastian slipped an arm around Anabel, as if that could protect her from what might happen if what happened to the Templars became known. Was he willing to keep Petrice’s wrongdoing from Elthina if it prevented that from coming out? Petrice’s lips curved into a smug smile as she him realize his quandary.

Much to their surprise, Anabel just laughed. “No.” She said shaking her head. “Sorry. That’s not going to work.” She gave Sebastian a reassuring smile, before moving away from him and towards Petrice. “The simple truth is that you can’t prove a thing without revealing some very questionable actions of your own, not just things that happened that night in the Chantry, but things that happened that other night. That night when we first met. The first time you tried to incite violence against the Qunari.”

Petrice’s face seemed to close off. “I don’t know what you mean.” She said stiffly.

Anabel gave her a mocking smile. “Don’t you remember? That hurts my feelings, Petrice.” She looked over at Fenris. “You remember, don’t you Fenris?”

Fenris didn’t bother to hide his loathing. “I do.” He growled.

She returned her gaze to Petrice. “You hired me back then because I was unimportant. Because I wouldn’t be missed if I were killed, and wouldn’t be heard if I weren’t. You hired me specifically because I had no voice.” 

She had stopped mere inches in front of the taller woman, but despite the fact that Petrice towered over her, it was Anabel that seemed threatening, Sebastian realized, wondering how it was she accomplished that. 

Anabel smiled coldly at her, continuing to speak. “But, do you know what Petrice? I may have had no voice three years ago, but my voice has gotten considerably louder since then. Perhaps even louder than yours now. So trying to manipulate those I care about? Trying to get them to compromise their beliefs in order to protect me?” She moved suddenly closer and Petrice stepped back, startled. “That is an impressively bad idea.” The mocking smile had disappeared, and Hawke’s eyes were deadly. She didn't notice the admiration on Sebastian's face as he watched her.

For a moment the two women just stared at each other, animosity flaring between them. But it was Petrice who looked away first.

“Stubborn.” She muttered, looking away, before seeming to reach a decision. “Very well. If you won’t abandon this, let me offer you something. The Templar you seek is a radical who has grown…unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor.” She hadn’t intended to sacrifice Varnell quite so soon, not until she had a replacement for him, and clearly the replacement wouldn’t be Brother Sebastian, she realized with chagrin. She had underestimated his attachment to the girl. She had underestimated the girl herself. 

“And why shouldn’t I just tell Elthina everything you’ve just told me?” asked Hawke.

Petrice smiled coldly. “Who knows what fate might befall those missing delegates if you do?”

Hawke’s mouth tightened in anger, and Petrice smile broadened. She had the upper hand now. “Varnell is holding a rally tomorrow night. Take the entrance to the Undercity near the Foundry and then up the stairs at the far end of the first large chamber you come to. You should have no trouble finding him. I will meet you there, and you can see for yourself the unrest these Qunari have inspired.” She turned and left them standing there.

Sebastian came up behind Hawke, putting his hands protectively on her shoulders. “She’s setting a trap.” He said simply. 

Hawke sighed, but let herself lean back against him. “It’s her game. For the moment.”

 

Petrice waited for them to arrive the next night, hidden from view, listening to Varnell rallying the faithful. “Qunari hold no real power. They are absent in the eyes of the Maker.” She straightened as she heard other voices.

“You have to hand it to this Varnell. Great place for an extremist rally.” It was the dwarf who was frequently accompanied Hawke.

“Petrice is here somewhere.” Said Hawke.

“Great.” Muttered Varric. They walked by the alcove where she had concealed herself. Hawke, the dwarf, that strange tattooed elf, Brother Sebastian and the Guard Captain, she noted with a frown. She hadn’t expected that.

“Do not fear them.” Said Varnell, over the cries of the faithful. “They die, like any animal. They are weak before the faithful of the Maker. Like any beast, remove its fangs and it is lost. The only certainty their Qun can offer is death before the righteous.” 

She waited until Hawke and her companions were well into the chamber before coming up behind them. “Ser Varnell.” She shouted.

His face lit up at the sight of her. “Take a knee, faithful. The Chantry itself blesses us.”

“You claim the Chantry’s blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?” She said, feigning outrage. “You have brought wrath down upon you. You remember Serrah Hawke? The Qunari have important friends, Templar. How will you answer these allegations?” She didn’t let herself see the confusion on Varnell’s face.

Hawke had been staring, appalled by the signs of brutal torture on the bodies of the Qunari, but her jaw tightened at Petrice’s words. She forced herself to push them aside, and concentrate on saving the Qunari. “You want a fight?” She taunted Varnell, pulling out her own weapons. “Try fighting someone whose weapons have not been bound.”

Petrice began backing out of the chamber watching Varnell’s face darken as he realized he had been sacrificed. He looked back at Hawke with undisguised hatred and instead of responding to her taunt, walked over to the Qunari delegate and pulling out a knife, dispassionately slit his throat. At a nod from him, two of his thugs dispatched the other Qunari in the same manner and they bled out in seconds as the mob cheered their approval. 

Varnell turned to Hawke and her companions. “Righteous!” He commanded. “Destroy them.” 

Petrice slipped quietly away, a satisfied smile coming to her face as the sounds of fighting grew louder behind her. No matter the outcome now, she was safe.

 

She woke the next morning with the same feeling of satisfaction, but with slightly more curiosity as to just what the outcome had been. She dressed and went about her duties, certain that she wouldn’t have to wait long before she found out. She was giving instructions to one of the sisters when she heard a voice behind her.

“Miss me?”

Hawke. Petrice allowed herself a pang of disappointment but dismissed it immediately. It would have been far easier if Varnell had been the one to survive, or if Hawke had been killed as well, but she hadn’t gotten as far as she had by being unable to adapt to circumstances. She dismissed the sister before turning around.

She flinched a little when she saw the amount of blood on the girl, and indeed on all of them. Even Brother Sebastian’s white armor was marred by streaks of red.

“Serrah Hawke. It is good to see you. The shame that Ser Varnell brought upon his order is most unfortunate.”

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself. “The shame he brought?”

Petrice ignored him. “Thank the Maker you were his Champion in that dark place.”

Hawke gave her a withering look. “We’re both adults. Can we stop pretending?” She was exhausted, covered in blood, and other things she didn’t want to think about, and every muscle in her body ached.

Petrice actually had the gall to look offended. “I have given you what you wanted at great expense. Varnell is more manageable as a martyr, but his loss will still be felt”

“Yes, you gave me Varnell, and a room full of zealots trying to kill me.” Hawke pointed out.

“The faithful know that eternity is at stake.” She said simply.

Hawke shook her head. “I can’t decide if you actually believe that or if you’re just using it for your own ambition.

Petrice gave a small shrug. “I have said nothing threatening or untruthful.”

That seemed to make Hawke angry. “You and your careful language. You’re no more satisfied with this than I am.” 

Petrice didn’t bother to hide her contempt. “Varnell was a fool. But the fact remains, an offense to the Maker goes unchallenged. You’ve avenged heretical Qunari with the blood of the faithful. That must be enough, even for you.”

Hawke gave a tired laugh. “Not by a long shot, Petrice.”

Anger flashed on Petrice’s face. “Then we are destined to have this argument again.” She walked past them, pausing at the base of the stairs. “I hope you live a long life Serrah Hawke, because your judgment before the Maker will be harsh.” She said, without even turning around, and walked up the stairs, leaving them staring after her.

Hawke stared after her.

Aveline muttered. “Sometimes you just know trouble is coming.” She turned to Sebastian. “Varnell reported to the Templars here?”

“I believe so. I’m not certain.”

“I’ll need to let them know what’s happened. Technically Varnell was under their jurisdiction. It’ll be up to them to investigate.”

“Wonderful.” Said Anabel wearily. “So the investigation is effectively closed then?” 

Aveline opened her mouth to deny it but sighed instead. “Probably.” 

Anabel looked at Sebastian. “Petrice has covered her tracks too well, hasn’t she? If we take this to Elthina Petrice can deny she had any involvement. Maker’s Ass, she can even say she helped us with it.” 

Sebastian hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she was right. He cursed softly as he realized it. 

Anabel stared bleakly ahead. “She is a slippery one.”

“Yes.” He agreed.

“You’d best take Aveline to the Knight Lieutenant. But would you come back when you’re done? I need to talk to you.” 

“Of course.” He agreed, wondering what she might have to say.

When he returned he found her sitting in one of the benches, staring at the statue of Andraste, clearly troubled. He slipped in to sit beside her.

“I’ve another confession to make.” She said quietly. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask.” He said, not entirely untruthfully. He had barely digested the news that she had killed those Templars.

"A few weeks after the Templars were killed here, there was another fight. More dead bodies.”

“Yes. It was after that we began locking the doors at night.” His voice trailed off as he realized what she was trying to say. “Oh Anabel.” He closed his eyes briefly, praying for understanding. 

“It wasn’t planned. I was helping out Isabela. Some men were trying to kill her because she’d freed their cargo -- men and women and children they were trying to sell as slaves. They claimed she owed them the coin they would have made in the sale. She’d agreed to duel their leader, a man called Hayder, to settle the dispute, but they ambushed her instead. We fought back. When we seemed to be winning they fled in here and Isabela ran after them. I couldn’t let her face them alone.”

“No, you wouldn’t be able to do that.” He had heard the story of Isabela freeing the slaves, but hadn’t realized that the fight had taken place here. 

She returned her gaze to the statue. She still looked upset.

“Is it that which troubles you? Or are you concerned about the Qunari?” 

She sighed. “No, I’m being much more selfish.” She turned to face him. “Do you think Petrice is right? Will the Maker judge me harshly? Am I destined for the Void?”

He almost laughed aloud at the sheer ridiculousness of the question but stopped at the look in her eyes. He took her hand gently in his own and looked directly into her eyes. “Anabel, with the exception of Elthina, I can’t think of anyone I know less likely to end up there.” 

She looked unconvinced. “I’ve killed so many people. I can’t even remember them all. Can’t even remember their faces. There’s something so very wrong with that.” 

“And how many have you saved through your actions?” He asked gently.

She looked at him. “Is it as simple as a tally sheet?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that.” 

"Perhaps not. Let me put it a different way: have you ever killed anyone when it wasn’t in defense of yourself or another?”

“No." She admitted.

“Then I don’t believe the Maker would condemn you to the Void for your actions.”

Some of the tension went out of her. She smiled at him. “Well, that’s good to know. Because I’ve got to go down to the Docks to tell the Arishok that his emissary and delegates are dead, and there’s a distinct possibility he might very well kill me.” She said lightly.

He stared at her. She was actually smiling at him. “You’re not serious.” 

Her eyes twinkled. “Deadly serious.”

He couldn’t believe she was joking about this. “Anabel, it’s not funny. I was there with you when you told him they were missing. I saw how angry he was at just that news.”

“Someone from this city needs to tell him.” She said stubbornly.

“He probably already knows.”

“I’m sure he does. But someone from Kirkwall needs to go to him and admit it. You heard the Viscount. He’s barely acknowledging that anything happened at all.”

“But why you?” Why always you, he thought. Every time something happened in the city, she was always there, always involved, always insisting on taking responsibility when no one else could be bothered.

“Because it’s important and I’m willing.”

He looked at her and he knew he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it. “I’m coming with you.” He said.

Her expression softened at the offer. “Thank you, but you can’t. It would imply that the Chantry had sanctioned the action. I’m not taking Aveline either. I’ll take Fenris and Varric. Just us ordinary citizens of Kirkwall.”

He’s couldn’t argue with her reasoning, but he didn’t like it. “Just the two?”

“I don’t want to bring Anders or Merrill knowing how the Qunari feel about mages. Isabela’s never my first choice for a diplomatic mission, and she always seems to disappear when we get near the Qunari compound. And if they attack us inside the compound then having one or two more won’t make a difference.”

Perhaps Anders was right, perhaps she really did think she was indestructible. “And you’re just going to walk in there?” He demanded.

“I might swagger a bit.” She said with a cheeky smile.

“Anabel.” He struggled to find the words to voice his fears.

Her hand briefly caressed his face, touched by the concern there. “I’ll be fine.” She pushed to her feet, and walked over to where Varric, Fenris and Aveline stood. He saw Aveline protest and Anabel quiet her in much the same way she had him. As she, Fenris and Varric walk towards the doors he heard her say, “So, a human, an elf and a dwarf walk into a Qunari compound…” 

He walked to join Aveline who was staring at three as they walked towards the doors. “Can I buy you a drink, Guard Captain?”

She looked at him in surprise. “It’s not even noon.” She said.

“True.” He said.

She watched as the door closed behind them, before turning back to Sebastian. “Maker, yes.”


	14. At the Memorial Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke speaks with Sebastian after her meeting with the Arishok

Hawke walked into the Chantry shortly before evening services began. She’d meant to arrive earlier. After delivering the news of his murdered delegates to the Arishok, she’d reported back to Seneschal Bran and then gone to let Aveline know what had occurred. When she’d told the Guard Captain that she was going to the Chantry to let Sebastian know what had happened, Aveline had looked her up and down, taking in the bloodstains and dirt, and lingering on the dark shadows beneath Hawke’s eyes and she’d suggested, in a tone that brooked no argument, that Fenris stop by the Chantry on his way home, while Hawke cleaned herself up and got some rest. As much as she had wanted to see Sebastian right away, she hadn’t had the energy to argue.

She had to admit she felt one hundred times better now, she thought as she walked towards the chancel. She looked up and saw Elthina standing there by the lectern and hesitated only a moment before running lightly up the stairs to see her.

Elthina didn’t notice her approach.

“Your Grace.” She said softly.

Elthina gave a small start and looked at the girl next to her. She smiled when she realized who it was. “Hawke. I didn’t recognize you. Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress?”

Hawke smiled. “It’s usually not very practical for me to wear a dress, what with all the trouble I get into.” She admitted. “But I thought, since it was still early and I was only coming here, that I might chance it.”

Elthina looked at her. The dress was simple, a soft grey wool trimmed with a wide black and silver brocade ribbon at neck, cuffs and hem. Straight sleeves were laced to the wrists, a modest scooped neckline hit just below her collarbone and a beautifully tooled black leather belt with a sheath holding one of her customary daggers completed the outfit. Instead of her usual braid or bun, her hair fell in loose curls down her back, only the front sections twisted and fastened at the back of her head to keep it out of her face. 

“You look very pretty.” The Grand Cleric said with a warm smile. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Anabel said awkwardly. She never knew what to say when she got compliments, so she changed the subject. “I imagine you’ve heard about what happened with the Qunari delegates?”

Elthina sighed. “Yes. It’s most unfortunate that Ser Varnell’s actions weren’t noticed by his superiors. The path to righteousness is never as straight and narrow as we wish. He strayed very far from that path.”

Hawke wondered just how much Elthina had been told. “He used your seal to incite a crime. People killed and were killed themselves believing they followed the will of the Chantry.”

“He was trusted when he should not have been. Mother Petrice is most upset.” 

Yes, she could just imagine that Petrice was putting on quite the show. She fought to keep her face neutral. “Just what is the Chantry’s stance on the Qunari?” She asked.

Elthina looked startled by the abrupt question. She’d been too blunt, she realized. Again. “I’m sorry…” she started to say.

“No, it’s quite all right.” Said the Grand Cleric, but she had a small frown on her face. After a moment she spoke. “Would it help for us to get involved? Or would it simply light the kindling? If the Qunari attack, the Templars will protect us. Otherwise we guard ourselves best by waiting.”

“I’m not sure neutrality will work for long.” Hawke said carefully, trying not to offend.

Elthina continued in a soothing voice. “The Chantry’s time is not men’s time. We do not need to rush. The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother who knows that children learn best when they are allowed to learn themselves.”

Unless those children are running about playing with knives and fire, Hawke thought. She suddenly had much more sympathy for Anders’ frustration with the Chantry.

Elthina seemed to sense her answer had not been happily received and she reached out and placed a light hand on Anabel’s arm. “There are many strong opinions in this city, child. It is not my job to say who is right, but to be there to counsel all if they should ask. Now, I imagine you’re looking for Sebastian.” She said before Hawke could respond. “I believe he’s in the Memorial Chapel.” It was a gentle but definite dismissal.

“Thank you, your Grace.” Anabel said and left her there.

She made her way to the chapel in the back of the Chantry, slowing as she approached. Someone was singing the chant. Two people, she realized, a man and a woman, singing alternate lines. She recognized the man’s voice at once, and wondered why it had never occurred to her that Sebastian would be able to sing? She moved slowly towards the door. The chapel was empty, but for Sebastian and an older sister, who was lighting the lamps for the evening. Sebastian was standing at the Wall, running a cloth over a newly placed wooden plaque. The singing had been spontaneous; a brother and sister of the Chantry, doing their work and finding pleasure in singing the praises of their Maker as they did so. It was beautiful, she thought, a wistful smile curving her lips. She leaned her head against the door, listening and just watching him work. Brother Sebastian. He was so utterly at home here. What was it he had said that time? 

_If it hadn’t been for the murder of my family I could have happily spent the rest of my days serving the Maker and his bride._

He should be able to have that. She shouldn't keep wanting him. Wanting more from him.

As if he sensed her there Sebastian paused in his singing and turned, a smile coming to his face when he saw her standing there. Her heart gave that little skip it always did at the sight of it, despite the fact that he stood there wearing his Chantry robes, the words of the Chant he had just sung still echoing against the vaulted ceiling. 

The sister had finished her work, and walked out, leaving them alone in the chapel. Sebastian expected Anabel to join him, but she remained at the door watching him, unsmililng, just a hint of sadness in her eyes. He crossed to her and bending down pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for sending Fenris to let me know everything was all right.” He’d had one awful moment of sheer panic when he’d looked up from his prayers and found Fenris standing there alone and he’d thought something terrible had happened to her.

Finally she smiled at him. “I'm sorry I didn't come myself but Aveline ordered me home to clean myself up. So I bathed and sat down on a blanket in the garden, just to let the sun dry my hair for a bit, and the next thing I knew it was three hours later and Mother was standing over me lecturing me about sleeping on the ground like ‘some sort of Chasind wanderer’. Apparently she’s forgotten all the Chasind we knew in Lothering, as well as the fact we used to sleep on the ground all the time when we were moving around.” 

He could picture her lying there, asleep in the sunlight, her hair spread out around her. “I'm sure you needed the rest. You were exhausted. You look much better now.” She looked beautiful, in point of fact. Small, and perfect, and almost impossibly feminine. “Do you have plans for this evening?” He asked with a frown. He never saw her in a dress unless there was some event to go to, and these days it was rare indeed that one of them attended a party if the other wasn’t there as well.

“No.” she said looking down at her dress. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d put it on after she’d bathed. “I was suddenly and inexplicably tired of always having to be armored and dressed for a fight. I felt the need to be…well, girly, for want of a better word. I can't imagine why.” 

Sebastian thought he did. She'd wanted to distance herself from all the death and horror she'd gone through, to be someone that no one would consider asking for help with such things. Perhaps that explained the sadness in her eyes. “You look lovely. You should wear dresses more often. They suit you.” 

She could feel herself blushing. “Thank you. I’m not sure how practical that would be, given the way I live my life. I can only imagine the Arishok’s face were I to walk into the Compound like this.” 

“Tell me more about what happened. Fenris said the Arishok seemed pleased by your actions.”

She shook her head, still not quite believing it. “You could have knocked me over with a feather. He already knew that the delegates were dead, of course, but he seemed to approve of the fact that we hadn’t tried to hide the torture, and that we came to him and told him what had happened. Well, I’m not sure ‘pleased’ is exactly the right word, but my head is still attached to my body, so I’m not going to complain.”

“He respected your being forthright.”

“I think so." She gave him a teasing smile. "I'll have to tell Bran. I may be a disaster here in Kirkwall, but apparently I’d do very well at the Qunari court, if they even have a court, that is.”

“So, you’ve averted the crisis.” He commented.

“For now it seems. I hope. Temporarily, at least. We need to find what was stolen though, now more than ever.” She didn’t know where to begin to do that.

The sadness had been replaced by worry now, and he didn't want that either. “Come, I need your opinion on something. “ He led her to the plaque he had been polishing. 

Anabel looked at it.

_Ser Wesley Vallen ___

_Knight of the Templar Order_

She looked up at Sebastian in surprise.

“Have I overstepped myself?” He asked.

She looked back at the plaque and shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so. How did you even know about him?”

“Aveline spoke about him after you’d left for the Compound.”

“She almost never does. She must like you.” 

“I think perhaps her attraction to Guardsman Donnic has made it easier for her to talk about her late husband. His loss isn’t felt quite as keenly.” 

Anabel looked back at the plaque, thinking of that day. It seemed ages ago. So much had happened since then. “It was she who ended Wesley’s life, you know, once we realized that he’d been tainted.”

“She told me. She’s grateful that you let it be her decision even though she hesitated.”

A sad smile curved her lips. “They loved each other so much. You could see it, even in the short time he was with us. They didn’t hide it. I don’t mean that they slobbered all over each other or anything like that. It was just there whenever they looked at each other, or spoke to each other. I couldn’t be the one to make that decision for her. I didn’t truly understand how hard it must have been for her until I thought I might have to do the same for Carver.” Her eyes travelled over the wall, covered with plaques. “It’s a beautiful tradition, a wall like this, covered in the names of loved ones. I wish I’d been able to do it for Bethany, and for Da.” She said wistfully.

“I’m glad to hear you think that, actually.” Sebastian said.

She glanced over at him. He had a small smile on his face that she couldn’t quite read. “Relieved I’m not quite the heathen you thought?” She guessed.

“No, it’s not that.” He didn’t elaborate, but, putting his hand on the small of her back, he led her to another, older section of the wall. He pointed at a row of plaques down near the ground.

She looked down, read the names and went still, before dropping to the ground, her skirt billowing out around her.

_Malcolm Hawke_

_Beloved Father and Husband_

  


_Bethany Hawke_

_Beloved Daughter and Sister_

The words blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she hastily blinked them back. She reached out a shaking hand to touch them, her fingers tracing lightly over the names. She looked up at Sebastian. “You did this?”

“Yes. I hope it wasn’t presumptuous of me.”

She looked back at the wall, and shook her head, “No.” She was unable to say more.

He knelt beside her and she looked at him, unable to stop the tears. “I’m sorry.” She said, trying to wipe them away. “It’s ridiculous to weep like this when it’s been so many years.”

He reached out a hand and gently brushed them away. “They walk with the Maker now. But it’s no shame for those left behind to mourn.” 

She shook her head. “It’s not that." She hesitated as she tried to find the right words. "To see their names here, with all the others. So much of their lives was spent hiding. But now their names are here. Everyone can see that they lived. That they lived and were loved.” Her voice broke off and she reached out and took his hand in hers, and pressed a kiss to the back of it before resting her cheek there. “Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost inaudible.

“Anabel…” He freed his hand and slipping his arm around her, pulled her close, so her head rested against his chest. He didn't speak, just held her, running his hand through those bright curls. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, as if she were somehow drawing strength from his very nearness. 

Eventually she pulled free and looked again at the plaques. “When did you do this?” She asked.

“After we spoke in the Chantry garden that day.” 

She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “That long ago?” 

“Yes. You missed them so much. I thought it might help if you saw the names here. Part of me hoped you’d come by and see them before I left for Orlais.” He said. 

“I was trying to stay away from the Chantry.” She admitted.

He frowned at her words. “Why?” 

She looked at him and her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. “You’d been so kind to me. And after what happened – what almost happened that day in the garden… I didn’t want to make things difficult.” They'd never talked about it. She wasn't certain she should have said anything about it now.

His eyes were fixed on her, his expression guarded, his face unreadable. “Why would your coming to the Chantry make things difficult?” He asked.

She found herself unable to answer with anything but the truth. “Because I care for you too much.” She whispered. 

Her eyes were huge in her face as she looked at him. His pulse seemed to thunder in his ears. He’d let himself believe that the attraction was one sided. That only he felt it. “I accompanied Elthina to Orlais so I wouldn’t see you.” He confessed.

She looked away then, her face filled with remorse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m no different than those other girls who chase you, am I?” She tried to scramble to her feet, to flee, but he caught her by both arms and pulled her roughly back. She looked up at him, startled by the action. 

The blue of his eyes seemed electric. “You misunderstand me. I left because I couldn’t be near you without wanting….” He realized how tightly he was gripping her and he closed his eyes, praying for control. His hands slowly relaxed and he released her, and when he opened his eyes again, they were calm. He tried to think of how to tell her, how to make her realize…

“I left because I care for you too much.” He said, repeating her own words back to her. 

They stared at each other, both of them breathing a little too fast. For a moment neither spoke. 

“You still want to retake your vows.” She said finally. It wasn’t a question.

He did, but not for the reasons she thought. He wanted her uncorrupted. Safe from the kind of man he was. He nodded his head anyway. “Yes.” He said. 

She nodded back slowly, almost as if she were imitating his movement. “I don’t want to lose your friendship.” She said suddenly, the words seeming to burst out of her. 

He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, holding her tight. He felt her arms slide around him, and he pulled her even closer, and they knelt there like that, pressed against each other, unmoving. She felt his lips brush the top of her head, and then he pulled away to look at her. His eyes were bright. “You never will.” He vowed. 

“Then we’ll be all right.” She said with an assurance she didn’t quite feel. She reached up with a trembling hand and lightly caressed his face. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Yes.” He agreed. He got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. “We will be.” 

He walked her to the Chantry doors, impressed at what accomplished liars they both were.


	15. Miss Isabela's School of Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After exploring Bartrand's mansion, Hawke makes good on her promise to Varric to drink herself stupid. Only that could explain why she's letting Isabela teach her to dance.
> 
> Sebastian's reaction is...unexpected.

Sebastian was in one of the work rooms in the Chantry, carefully cutting the leather grip off his grandfather’s bow, when he sensed someone watching him. He looked up. Anabel was leaning against the doorway, windblown and weary looking. He smiled gently at her, and cleared off some room on the bench next to him. She slid in and sat watching him silently. He was dressed in dark trousers and boots, and a loose white shirt. Neither priest nor prince today, she thought. She rather liked him like that.

He glanced over at her. “Wounded Coast?”

“Yes.” She said with a sigh. “We found another of Tahrone’s books. It was as pleasant as always.” She shuddered. “I really hate Horrors. Could I just sit here for a while?” 

“You don’t have to ask.” 

She put her arms on the table and rested her head on them, facing him. She stayed quiet, just watching him. She seemed troubled. 

“You didn’t go by yourself?” He had been shocked when he’d discovered that she did occasionally venture out on her own to the Undercity or the Wounded Coast. She’d said ‘we’, but that sometimes meant she’d taken Boy with her. 

She shook her head. “No. Merrill and Fenris and Anders were with me."

He raised an eyebrow at the list.

She groaned. “I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. Varric mentioned that Merrill’s barely been leaving her house, so I stopped by to check on her and the next thing I know she’s tagging along. Now Merrill’s furious with me for destroying another source of ancient lore. That got Fenris started with his ‘all magic is evil’ mantra, at which point Anders called Fenris a mage hating bastard and actually defended Merrill, even though he completely agrees with me about destroying the tomes. I tried to placate all of them, and now everyone’s pissed off at me.” She buried her head in her outstretched arms.

“Poor Anabel.” He said sympathetically. “It’s never enjoyable being the only grownup.” He reached for the leather strips he had prepared and began to weave them around the grip. “Don’t take it too much to heart. You have passionate friends. That they feel free to express their opinions so readily speaks of their respect for you. Try accepting it as that.”

She turned and looked at him, not lifting her head from the table. “I know I should. I should be fair and benevolent and understanding. But really, I just want to smash things.” 

He couldn’t help smiling. 

After a moment, she straightened up, putting her elbow on the table and resting her head on her hand. She watched him work, feeling his calm presence like a balm on her riled emotions. “You’re such a peaceful person.” She commented. “Doesn’t anything get under your skin? Make you lose your composure?” 

“Yes.” He said, reaching for a length of red ribbon and working it into the strands of leather. “You mostly.”

She gave a shout of laughter, and clapped her hand over her mouth, looking dismayed. “Maker, that’s really not funny at all, is it? You make me calm and peaceful and I make you crazy.” 

“My words were poorly chosen. You make me feel alive, Anabel.” His eye met hers, and there was an intensity in them that made her breath hitch in her throat. He broke the contact and went back to his work. 

Neither of them had mentioned the conversation they’d had at the Memorial Wall the previous week, but the knowledge of it lingered there, just below the surface.

She watched him weave the ribbon into the grip. “I used to have a hair ribbon that color. Varric calls it Hawke red. Because of the crest.” 

His eyes twinkled. “Did you now?” He couldn’t say exactly why he’d failed to return her ribbon, nor could he say what prompted him to add it to the grip of his bow.

She looked puzzled, her eyes going from him, to the ribbon and then back to him again, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Sebastian Vael, did you steal my ribbon?” She demanded, her dimple dancing at her cheek.

“I did warn you of my scandalous past.” He pointed out, returning his attention to his work. 

“Yes, but I thought it involved something interesting. Excessive drinking and gambling. Drunken brawls in disreputable brothels. Farm animals. A dwarf in drag. Not petty larceny of hair accessories.” She shook her head. “I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed.”

“If that’s the sort of thing you expected, you’ll find the truth even more disappointing.” He said lightly.

“And what’s the truth then?”

He kept his eyes fixed on his work. “I found it in the Chantry, shortly after an impossibly brave and beautiful young lady saved my life. I keep it as a reminder of both the debt she is owed, and a sign of the very high esteem in which I hold her.” When she didn’t respond, he glanced over at her. 

She was staring at him open-mouthed, and he had to hide his smile. He’d rendered her speechless. Now that was an accomplishment.

Her cheeks turned pink when she saw the smile and she realized he’d caught her gaping at him. She looked down at the table in front of her, trying to hide the confusion his words had caused. How on Thedas did he do that, she wondered, picking up one of the scraps of leather that lay on the table. She reached over and took the knife he’d been using, and cut the leather into equal strips. If anyone else tried to say something like that it would sound completely ridiculous. Sebastian said it and it sounded nothing but sincere. She snuck a sideways peek at him. 

He’d finished the grip and was holding the bow at arm’s length, admiring his work. Her eyes went to it. The red of her ribbon stood out in strong contrast against the Starkhaven gold and white. 

“It looks nice.” She offered shyly. 

“Yes.” He said with a satisfied smile. “They complement each other well.” He put the bow down on the table in front of him and looked to see what she was doing. She’d begun braiding the strands she’d cut, pulling them tightly together as she worked so they formed a thick round cord. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. I used to do this for Carver.” Her fingers flew over the strands.

“How many strands are you working with?” He asked curiously. Her fingers moved so fast it was impossible to tell.

“Eight.” After a few minutes she stopped and measured the length around his wrist. A few inches short. Sitting back, she resumed braiding until she had the length she wanted. She skillfully fashioned the end into a knot, and taking his hand, she fastened it securely around his wrist. “There.” She said, running her fingers over it. She liked the way it looked against the tan of his wrist. “It suits you.” She couldn’t help sliding her hand into his, and their fingers locked briefly together before she pulled her hand back. 

Sebastian turned his wrist, looking at it. “A second favor, and I’ve yet to give you one.” He remarked.

“You gave me my favor years ago.” She reached into neck of the leather jerkin she wore, and hooking a finger around the chain, pulled the locket free. 

He smiled at the sight of it. “As much as I like seeing it on you, I’ve often wondered why you never sold it. I know you needed funds. It’s an old fashioned piece but it would still have fetched a good sum.”

“It’s not old fashioned.” She protested. “It’s beautiful.” She looked down at it, running her fingers over the amethysts. “I don’t know. I should have. I just couldn’t. I could tell it meant something to you, in spite of the ease with which you gave it away to a stranger. There was just something…” Her voice trailed off.

“Something?” he prompted.

“There seemed to be a connection between us. When our hands touched... when we looked at each other...” She shook her head. “Maker, that sounds idiotic. Like one of Izzy’s ridiculous novels.” 

He was watching her intently, but she couldn’t read the look. 

She laughed, feeling foolish. “Just ignore me, please.”

“No. I felt it too, Anabel. That’s why I gave it to you.”

She looked down at the locket not knowing how to respond. _He wants to be a priest,_ she reminded herself yet again. _You’re his friend. You will not make things more difficult_. “Whose locket was it?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

“My grandmother, Meghan’s.” A smile curved his lips as a picture flashed into his head; his grandmother laughing merrily as she teased his grandfather, and his grandfather smiling back at her, his eyes filled with love. “I have only dim memories of her. I couldn’t have been more than four or five when she passed away. But in those memories she’s always smiling, always laughing. My grandfather adored her. He gave her that locket. After she died he told me when I found a girl like her he would give me the locket, and I could give to her.” He looked down at the girl beside him. “And so I did.”

A small frown crinkled her brow. “But you’d only just met me.” 

“Yes.” _And I knew right away,_ he thought. _I just couldn’t admit it to myself._

“If it’s an heirloom you should have it back.” She said, trying to hide her reluctance. Her hands reached up behind her neck to unfasten the clasp. 

Before she could, he'd reached out and caught her wrists in a gentle grip. “No.” he said firmly. 

_She was beautiful and brave and had the loveliest laugh, and when you find such a bride I’ll give it to you for her._

He didn’t know what the Maker intended for him, but he knew there was only one woman whom he would ever marry. “It’s meant for you Anabel.” 

He pulled her arms down, relaxing his grip a little, but not letting go. The movement brought her hands directly in front of him, so she was almost touching him, so close that she could feel the heat of his skin through the cotton of his shirt. Unable to stop herself, she reached and placed her hands against his chest. He went very still. She could feel his heart beating now, a little faster than it should be, and she couldn’t help bending her fingers ever so slightly and running her fingertips lightly down. She felt rather than heard his quickly drawn in breath. 

She lifted her eyes to look at him. 

She was so impossibly lovely, Sebastian thought, his eyes going hungrily over her face. They lingered for a moment on that lush mouth. That full upper lip.

His hands slowly tightened on her wrists. He lowered his head almost imperceptibly.

The Chantry bells began to peal. He quickly released her and moved back on the bench. “I hadn’t realized how late it was. I’ve a meeting with the Viscount I should get ready for.” He said.

“Yes, of course.” Anabel murmured, still feeling the grip of his hands on her wrists. “I should go myself. I’m meeting Varric and some of the others. We’re going to check out that mansion, see if there’s any truth to the rumor that Bartrand’s back in Kirkwall.” She hesitated. “We’ll probably end up at the Hanged Man when we’re through. Will you be able to join us?”

He needed to have better control around her. He would have better control around here. He would not lose her friendship because he couldn’t stop himself touching her. “I’m helping with the morning services, so I’m afraid not.” 

“Oh. Of course.” She tried to hide her disappointment. Was that in fact the case? Or did he not want to see her later? Perhaps she shouldn’t have given him the bracelet. Or touched him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have stopped by at all. Perhaps it would be best if they only met when others were there, rather than alone. The very thought made her miserable.

He watched the emotions play over her face, and he couldn’t stop himself. “However, I might be persuaded to take you to lunch tomorrow.” 

And like that the world was immediately right again. Maker, she was pathetic. She couldn’t help smiling, even as she raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “Might be persuaded? Are you playing hard to get, Sebastian Vael? I’ll have you know there are quite a few men who don’t need to be persuaded. Who would actually be happy to dine with me.” 

“Indeed? There are men willing to put up with your sassy nature?” He asked, feigning surprise.

Her lips twitched. “Well, I’m very rich you know. Men will put up with a lot of sass for that. Of course you liked me when I was poor and sassy.”

“I did.” He said with a smile. _Maker help me_ , he thought, _I truly did._

Again a flash of her dimple. “So what would it take to ‘persuade’ you?” she asked.

“Wear a dress.” He said. “A pretty one.” She’d been denied the chance to be just a young girl when she was younger. He could give her that at least. Give her the opportunity to be unashamedly ‘girly’ as she’d put it.

She looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected that answer. “And if what if we’re attacked?” She asked with a frown.

“Then you’ll just have to trust me to defend you.”

She pretended to consider it. “You do have some skill with that bow of yours.” She said grudgingly. “I might be able to do that.” 

“I’ll pick you up after the noonday service.” 

“I’ll see you then.” She said and left, running through her entire wardrobe in her head, trying to think of which, out of all the dresses she owned, he might consider the prettiest. It seemed a wonderfully normal thing to be doing.

 

  


Sebastian’s meeting ran far longer than he’d expected. Three years after the murder of his family, he was still meeting regularly with the Viscount, but the weekly meetings had turned into monthly meetings. They were no longer discussions of how the throne might be regained, but instead, a brief conversation over a glass of Antivan brandy about what was currently happening Starkhaven. Truthfully, not much was happening. The death of Lady Harimann seemed to have put a halt to any plotting against him personally. Goran was at best, and worst, a neutral presence on the throne. 

He’d expected this meeting to last a quarter of an hour at most. He’d been wrong. 

Apparently, his recent ventures into society had not gone unnoticed in Starkhaven. The Viscount had received several letters seeking confirmation of whether or not Sebastian had in fact left the Chantry. And there had been another letter, this one addressed to him personally -- an inquiry from a former advisor of his father’s requesting to meet with him on neutral ground to discuss the future of Starkhaven.

He was surprised at how tempted he was by it; to have the chance to talk to someone from the court, to truly discover how his claim to the throne might be received.

He reached the top of the stairs and saw Aveline walking towards him. “Guard Captain.” He said, inclining his head.

“Prince.” She replied, a little stiffly. She hadn’t been quite at ease with him since the day they’d cleared the path for her, giving her the opportunity to speak with her guardsman. 

He couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “You’re here very late this evening. Is that usual?” 

“I’ve a meeting with the Seneschal. Had a meeting more than an hour ago, actually. Some nobleman, whose time is apparently more valuable than mine, couldn’t stop talking.”

A wry smile appeared on his face. “Ah. Yes. I’m afraid that was my fault. I am sorry.” 

She looked surprised. “Well at least with you I know it wasn’t time wasted on frivolous matters. It’s nothing that concerns Kirkwall? Starkhaven’s affairs have spilled over here in the past.”

“Not intentionally, Guard Captain. But you need not worry on that account.” Sebastian assured her.

She looked skeptical, and might have said more, but they were interrupted by a small elven boy who pushed past him and ran to Aveline, handing her a folded note. “Message for you, ser.” Aveline handed the boy a few coppers and he ran off. 

Aveline opened the note, read it, and cursed.

“Is everything all right?” asked Sebastian.

Aveline was scowling at the piece of paper. “It’s from Varric. About Hawke.”

“She’s not been injured?” He asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

“No.” she looked over at the door to the Viscount’s office. “Damn them. I have a job. Responsibilities. I can’t just go running to the Hanged Man because none of them can handle her.” She said, speaking more to herself than to him. 

“Handle her?” Why would anyone need to ‘handle’ Anabel? “Aveline, what’s going on?”

Aveline looked startled, as if she had forgotten he were there. She considered him for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. “Look, every so often Hawke does this thing.” She started to say and the stopped, as if uncertain of how to continue.

“A thing?” He repeated.

Aveline sighed. “You know how she takes care of everyone and everything? Anyone asks for her help and she just gives it to them.”

“Yes, of course. It's hard not to notice.” 

“Well, it’s a lot for one person to cope with, and, sometimes she… lets off steam.” She didn’t elaborate.

He frowned. “I’m not certain I understand.” He said.

“She gets drunk.” Aveline said bluntly. 

He couldn’t help laughing. “Is that all?” He said, relieved. He’d thought…well, truthfully he didn’t know what he’d thought, Aveline was being so cryptic. 

Aveline cut him off. “I don’t mean a pleasantly tipsy evening at the Hanged Man. I mean so drunk that she loses all sense and discretion. Varric’s sent me a note saying to come and get her because apparently two mages, two rogues and a warrior can’t handle one slip of a girl.” In spite of her obvious irritation, it was clear that Aveline’s concern was genuine. 

“Surely it can’t be as bad as that.” said Sebastian. 

“You remember when she kissed Isabela?” 

It was impossible not to.

“That’s nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen. There is literally no knowing what she might do when she gets like this.”

Bran stuck his head out of the Viscount’s door. “Whenever you have the time, Guard Captain.” He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Shit.” Muttered Aveline.

“Could I help?” Sebastian offered. 

She looked at him carefully and then gave a small nod. “Yes. She might listen to you.” She said. “Be firm with her.” She instructed. “Don’t take no for an answer. And if you have to, pick her up and carry her home, whether she wants to go or not. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

 

  


The Hanged Man was even rowdier than usual when he arrived. He looked around for a glimpse of Anabel’s flaming curls, but didn’t see her, though he did spot Varric at a table by the bar. He quickly crossed to him, pushing past a group who were moving the furniture, clearing a space in the center of the room.

“Choir Boy!” Varric called out as he approached. “You’re just in time for the show.” 

Sebastian looked at the table and frowned. Merrill was curled up on top of it, passed out, he assumed. He couldn’t imagine she could be asleep with all the noise. “Is Merrill all right?” He asked sliding into one of the chairs.

“Daisy?” Varric gave her a fond look. “She’s fine. Tried to keep up with Hawke and Isabela. Didn’t last too long.” 

So Anabel was here somewhere. He watched as Varric lifted his cup and drained it. ”Are you celebrating something?” He asked. He’d never seen Varric drink like this.

The dwarf’s face went dark. “Celebrating? No, not quite.” His voice was uncharacteristically grim, but before Sebastian could question it, the easygoing smile was back and he was calling to Norah for more drinks. 

“What did you mean I’m just in time for the show?” 

“What’s that?” Said Varric, leaning forward.

“The show?” said Sebastian a louder voice.

“Oh. Isabela’s going to teach Hawke some dance.”

Sebastian tried to decide if that should worry him. “Where are the others?” 

“Hawke spilled her drink down the front of her shirt. She’s borrowing something from Isabela.” Varric paused to take a drink. “Blondie got called away to deliver a baby. Said he’d try to make it back. And Fenris…” Varric shifted in his seat, looking for the elf. “Is brooding at the bar.” He gave Norah a charming smile as she brought the drinks, and said something low that made her smile and give him a playful push.

Sebastian looked over at the bar. Fenris was standing there, scowling fiercely. Wondering what could be causing such displeasure, Sebastian followed his gaze, and there she was. 

Anabel. Standing at the bar, talking to Corff. 

_Holy Maker._

By no stretch of imagination was that a shirt.

Her back was to him, and her hair was twisted up, giving him an unobstructed, and completely perfect view. The garment, whatever it was, was sleeveless, and ended just below her shoulder blades, revealing most of her back, clearly showing how her slender waist flared into gently rounded hips. The rich red color made that satiny white skin look positively luminous. She turned to say something to Fenris and he swallowed hard.

That was definitely not a shirt. 

It was the sort of garment usually worn over a dress or shirt, or, he thought, quite possibly it was actually an undergarment. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. The shirt…bodice… whatever it was, laced up the front, the tight lacing and low neckline and overall brevity of the garment conspiring together to push up and reveal far more of her perfect breasts than he had been prepared to see this evening. 

And as far he as could tell they were as perfect as he’d imagined.

_Andraste have mercy._

Someone slid a shot of whiskey in front of him and he downed it without even thinking, before turning to see who it was. Isabela was standing there, a knowing smile on her lips. 

“You truly are a wicked woman.” He muttered, looking briefly back at Anabel before turning back to the pirate. 

She was smiling, looking well pleased with herself. “Need another?” She asked innocently, swinging the whiskey bottle by its neck in front of him.

“No. I’ve a feeling someone should be sober tonight.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

She just laughed, “Me? My motives are entirely altruistic. You haven’t been around her when she’s this drunk. If you don’t keep her occupied she gets into all sorts of trouble.” She took a swig from the bottle, and sauntered over to a group of musicians who were setting up in the corner. He frowned at her before turning to Anabel again.

She was gesticulating wildly as she spoke to the barman, regaling him with some mad tale about a woman turning into a dragon and flying away, though it seemed to be mixed with a different story about a dragon taking her to a ship. Each swing of her arms threatened to make her spill out of the bodice. She seemed entirely unaware of the lustful glances being sent her way.

“She’s always just showing up and saying these creepy things about destiny and fate and predicting all sorts of shitty things happening and then just disappearing when you’re about to ask her what the fuck she’s talking about. Never explains anything. Never comes straight out and tells you what to do. Just fucking hints and omens and dire warnings. She’s just….” She frowned. “What’s the word I’m looking for?” She asked Corff.

He stared blankly at her. 

“You know which one I mean. That word. It means mysterious and confusing but in a superior, creepy, dark, cryptic way.” She turned to the elf , who stood at her side, glowering at anyone who came to close or whose eyes lingered a shade too long. “Fenris, what’s that word?” Before he could respond she suddenly shouted out, “Enigmatic! That’s the word. She’s just fucking enigmatic.” She gave Fenris a grateful look. “What would I do without you?” She asked and flung her arms around him giving him an enthusiastic hug.

He just stood there, his arms held out stiffly to his side. She frowned at him as she pulled away. “We need to work on that. Maybe when we’re done dancing, we can teach you how to hug.” She said brightly. 

She turned back to the bar, missing Fenris’ horrified expression.

She took a drink, and looked up at Corff. “What was I saying? Oh, right. Enigmatic. She’s just fucking enigmatic. And plain rude.” She lifted her glass again and scowled. “My drink is empty. “ She looked at the barman. “What did I tell you when I came in this shithole tonight?”

“Not to let your drink get empty.” Corff said, pulling out a bottle and filling her cup to the brim.

“No.” She said sternly. “I said don’t let my drink get empty, and here we have a fucking empty...” She peered into the cup and her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Hey, my drink isn’t empty.” She looked up at the barman. “You…” She said waggling a finger at him, a drunken grin appearing on her face. “You are the best bar guy ever. That’s why I love you, Corff.” 

She grabbed his collar and yanked him halfway over the bar, planting a loud wet kiss on his mouth. Fenris, stiffened, his tattoos flaring briefly. She didn’t seem to notice. Her face grew serious. “You know that I love you, Corff, right?” 

Corff actually smiled at her, until he noticed Fenris glaring. “Drink your wine, Hawke.” He said, turning quickly away to wipe down the bar with a filthy cloth.

“Don’t be silly. I don’t drink wine because wine gives me a hangover.” She grabbed her cup and raised it high. “Here’s to Corff, the finest bar guy in all the Free Marches.” She took a large swallow and frowned. “My ale tastes funny.” 

“That’s because it’s wine.” Said Fenris dryly. 

Hawke frowned into her cup. She took another long drink. “No. I don’t think that’s it.” She tried to put it down on the bar and missed. It fell to the floor. She gave Fenris a suspicious look. “Did you move the bar?” She asked in an accusing voice.

The elf growled a curse in Tevene. “No, I did not move the bar.” 

Hawke gave him a dubious look. “Well, someone moved the fucking bar.” She muttered accusingly. She bent down to pick up her cup and lost her balance. Fenris grabbed her around the waist before she could fall. She looked up at him. “I’m a little dizzy.” She said apologetically. 

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “Is her language always this colorful when she drinks?” he asked Varric.

Varric was giving her a fond look. “Whenever she’s drunk or hurting. I’ve seen her make sailors blush, on occasion.” 

The tables were cleared, the musicians began to play, something with an insistent, thrumming beat, exotic and maddeningly familiar. Where had he heard it before? 

Isabela crossed to the bar, holding out a hand. “Come on Kitten. Time to dance.” 

“Izzy!” Anabel squealed with delight, flinging her arms around the other woman. “I love you too, you know that right?”

“Of course, Kitten.” Said Isabela, tucking an arm securely around the girl’s waist. “I’m still waiting for you to show me how much.” 

Anabel seemed to find that hilarious and descended into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard that she stumbled and actually did fall to the ground this time.

“Andraste’s sweet ass.” Sebastian turned to find Anders standing there, staring at Anabel in dismay, as she was hauled her to her feet, still giggling, by Fenris and Isabela. He turned to glare at Varric. “You promised you wouldn’t let her get this drunk.” 

Varric just shrugged. “Like I could stop her once she really got started. Come on, Blondie. She did offer.”

“Only Hawke would volunteer to get absolutely shit-faced just to make you feel better.” Said Anders dryly. He frowned taking in her attire. “Maker’s tits.” He muttered sinking into one of the chairs. “I can only assume the shirt is Isabela’s.”

Fenris had stalked over, still scowling. “I think the assumption is that it is actually a shirt.” 

“Everything went well with the delivery?” Varric asked.

Anders smiled, something Sebastian didn’t see very often. It took years off the man. “Perfectly. A boy. Mother and child both doing well, though who knows how long that will last if they don’t get out of Darktown.” He turned his attention to Hawke and Isabela. “So just what is Isabela doing?” 

The pirate was standing behind the girl, her hands planted firmly on Anabel’s hips rotating them from side to side.

Varric looked a bit puzzled himself. “Not entirely sure. She claims it’s some Rivaini dance. A ‘belly dance’ I think she called it?” 

And that was why the music sounded familiar, Sebastian realized, his heart sinking as the memory flooded back. A dockside tavern in Antiva, and an evening that had rapidly degenerated into an orgy of sexual excess and depravity. Literally. He couldn’t help the curse that slipped from his lips. The others stared at him in surprise.

“What?” Asked Varric. “You know what that is?” 

“We need to stop this.” It was one thing for her to traipse about half dressed upstairs. It was another thing entirely for her to be down here, dressed like that, dancing anything that came close to resembling the dance he remembered.

Varric didn’t seem to understand the urgency. “Look, she was going to go to the Qunari compound and sing the Arishok a lullaby. Isabela’s just distracting her.”

“She was going to do what?” Asked Anders.

Fenris scowled. “She has decided that the Arishok’s anger stems from the fact his mother didn’t show him enough affection when he was a child.” 

Anders couldn’t help a snort of laughter. 

Varric continued. “She wanted to go and tuck him in and sing to him to make up for it. Made it sound perfectly reasonable.” 

“This doesn’t change the problem at hand.” Sebastian insisted.

Varric waved his concerns away. “Lesser of two evils, Choir Boy. It’ll be fine. Aveline’ll be here before Hawke really gets out of hand.” 

“Actually she won’t.” Said Sebastian. Three pairs of eyes turned towards him. “She had a late meeting with the Seneschal and Viscount. She sent me instead.” 

Now Varric looked worried. “Well, shit. All right. We may be screwed.” 

They turned to look at the two women.

Isabela was demonstrating the dance for Hawke, and something about it had caught the girl’s attention now, and she seemed entirely focused on it. They watched as she mimicked Isabela, rotating her hips, leading first with one, then the other, and then combining the two movements together.

Considering the she’d been sprawled on the ground just moments before, Sebastian had to admit she was mastering it remarkably quickly. 

For a moment he let himself admire the sight of her. The gentle curves, the flawless skin, and that perfect body, moving in time to thrumming beat. Watching her hips swaying back and forth it was impossible to not picture them moving in a different way. He tore his gaze away, and looked around the tavern, seeing the same lust on more than one face. He turned back to Anabel.

She was laughing again, trying to copy the arm movements Isabela was showing her. She seemed entirely unaware of the looks directed at her.

He frowned. Unaware of the looks, and unconcerned by her state of near undress. He didn’t understand it.

“It’s as if she isn’t even aware of the effect she has.” He murmured.

“What’s that, Choir Boy?”

Sebastian hadn’t intended to say it out loud. He considered not answering Varric, but he was genuinely perplexed. “Anabel. She’s not a promiscuous woman at all, yet she doesn’t hesitate to traipse around half clothed in front of others. I’m having trouble understanding it.” 

Anders scowled at him. “She’s not one of your uptight chantry maidens, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not actually.” Sebastian replied, trying to keep his dislike for the man from his voice. “But it does seem out of character.”

It was Fenris who answered. “She is unaware that men find her attractive.”

Anders looked at him in surprise. “That’s surprisingly astute of you.”

Fenris glared at him. “I have eyes. And ears. I’ve heard how her mother speaks to her.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” Said Sebastian, carefully. “Do you mean she just doesn’t notice the looks?” 

Anders answered him this time. “No, at least it’s not just that. She genuinely doesn’t think she’s attractive.”

Sebastian stared at him. “But that’s preposterous.” 

“I think we can all agree on that. But remember how she grew up – hidden, isolated, and on the rare occasions they were around other people she was disguised to keep people from noticing her. Leandra tells her straight out, on an almost daily basis, that she’ll never have the looks of the Amells. I can only imagine she’s heard it since she was a child.”

He frowned as he considered it. Could Anabel truly not know just how beautiful she was? It didn’t seem possible. He turned to look at her.

She and Isabela were next to each other, moving in tandem now as the musicians increased the pace of the music. She was smiling and laughing, and obviously enjoying herself. The song ended with a flourish, to enthusiastic applause. Hawke reached over to give Isabela a hug, and stayed there, leaning against her. He felt himself relaxing. The mood in the tavern was upbeat. The patrons had been entertained by the dance. Perhaps it would be all right. And even if someone got out of hand, there were three of them, after all, four if you counted Isabela, who would make sure nothing happened to her. She was still leaning against the pirate, her eyes half closed. She was getting sleepy, he realized with a smile. Good. Another dance, or two and perhaps he could escort her home. 

Then, at a signal from Isabela, the musicians changed the tempo of the music, slowed it down so it changed from energetic, to slow and sensual. He watched Anabel’s eyes close, savoring it, and she began to sway her hips, matching her movements to the slower rhythm. Isabela moved in behind her, and slid her hands over Anabel’s hips, guiding them as they began to move together. Isabela slid one hand from Anabel’s hip, to the spot just below her naval, and gently pulled her back so they were pressed close together. Her other hand slid up Anabel’s side, lifting her arm and trailing her fingers up the length of it, each movement perfectly paced to the music. 

Anabel’s eyes were still closed, and he could see her savoring the feel of the fingers that trailed across her skin. Her head fell back to rest on Isabela’s shoulder, and Isabela reached out and pulled the pins from Anabel’s hair, letting it tumble down around her. She ran her fingers through the thick curls, making it part of the dance somehow, and Sebastian could almost feel what it would be like to run his own fingers through that wild mass. 

Isabela brushed the curls away from the side of Anabel’s face, and leaning close pressed a soft, slow kiss against her cheek. She caught Sebastian’s eye, and gave him a teasing smile, and her mouth continued to move, trailing down Anabel’s cheek, to her jaw, and then the side of her neck. The girl tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck to the caress.

Sebastian clenched his fists at his side. What in the Maker’s name was Isabela doing? 

He looked at Anabel’s face, and then couldn’t look away.

She was drunk enough that everything was just sensation now. He remembered how that felt. Every touch magnified and yet muffled somehow, as if it were happening to someone else. He watched, as Isabela’s hand trailed back down Anabel’s outstretched arm. She didn’t stop when she reached her shoulder, but continued, trailing her hand lightly over Anabel’s breast. For once Anabel didn’t protest, just caught her lower lip between her teeth and practically arched into the touch. 

How many nights alone in his cell at the Chantry had he pictured just that look on her face? But not like this. Not with someone else touching her. Not in the middle of a tavern, with other men leering at her.

The last thought woke him from his stupor. He looked around. There was naked desire on far too many faces. This needed to end.

“Right.” He said getting to his feet and looking at the others. “And with that, I’m done.” 

Before they realized what he was about, he’d crossed to the center of the room, and bending down, scooped Anabel up and threw her over his shoulder. 

She yelped in surprise, her eyes flying open. “Hey! Put me the fuck down!” She hammered her fists ineffectively on his lower back, before noticing the white and gold greaves. “Sebastian?” She asked, trying unsuccessfully to look at him from her inverted position. 

When had Sebastian gotten here? 

“You’re going home, Anabel.” He said firmly. 

There were some boos and grumbles from the crowd which he ignored, moving purposefully toward the door. 

“But I don’t want to go home.” Anabel protested, lifting her head and trying to see past the hair that covered her face. “I’m learning how to tummy dance.” 

“Belly dance.” He corrected grimly, continuing towards the exit.

“Hey, ain’t that Brother Sebastian?” He heard a voice ask. 

Wonderful, he thought. How on Thedas would he explain this to Elthina? Hawke was squirming wildly, trying to push herself upright, and he tightened his grip around her thighs.

She managed to shift a bit so she could at least lift her head and see behind her. “Izzy!” She called out. “Sebastian’s kidnapping me!” 

Isabela laughed carelessly and moved towards them. 

Sebastian turned to face her, and she stopped in her tracks when she saw the possessive glint in his eyes. 

She took a step back lifting her hands in surrender. “Sorry, sweet thing. I make it a point to never to interfere with Chantry business.”

Hawke caught a glimpse of Fenris as he moved to cover Sebastian’s exit. “Fenris, Sebastian is making me go home.” She complained.

“Good.” Fenris said, with a glare at Isabela that left no doubt as to whom he blamed for getting them into this situation. 

“Anders?” Anabel called plaintively. Sebastian’s eyes moved to the mage, daring him to interfere, but Anders actually looked relieved.

“Go home Hawke. It’s been a long day. Sleep it off.” 

“Varric?” 

“Nighty- night Hawke.” said Varric standing. “Blondie help me get Merrill upstairs, would you?”

“You’re all fucking lousy friends, you know that?” Hawke shrieked, as they reached the door.

Sebastian tried to maneuver through the door and Hawke grabbed at the jamb, holding on with both hands. Without any hesitation, he smacked her on the behind.

“Ow! You hit me.” She sounded positively outraged. 

“Let go of the door or I’ll do it again.” He warned. 

There were some rowdy shouts from the men in the bar. At first annoyed at the loss of their entertainment they were quickly warming to this new show. He heard Varric call out “Corff, a round on me.”, and the attention was gone. They left the tavern.

As soon as they were safely outside he put her down and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her along behind him, down the stairs, through the closed market, up the stairs on the other side. 

He was furious. With Isabela for starting it. With Anabel, for going along with it. And most of all with himself for failing so completely to keep his desires under control.

Hawke was digging in her feet and trying to pull her hand free. “I was having fun in there.” She protested. “Isabela was teaching me how to tummy dance.” 

“Belly dance, and I’m sure that’s not all Isabela wanted to teach you.” He muttered, not releasing her. 

“What?” Was Sebastian being snarky? She hadn’t even known he was capable of snarkiness. 

Snarkidom? 

Snark. 

Yes. That was the word. She stumbled over a loose cobblestone and her hand came free from his.

He stopped, and turned so suddenly that she walked right into him. 

One look at his face, and she actually took a step back. The only other time she had seen him look like this was that day he’d fired the arrow past Elthina. She tried to peer unobtrusively behind him to see if he had his bow with him now. 

“Dancing like that in the Hanged Man, barely clothed, writhing in front of all those men. Letting Isabela touch you like that. A few more minutes and there would have been a bloody stampede. Do you have any idea what was going on in there?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Any idea of how those men were looking at you?” 

She seemed genuinely confused. “No.” She said in a small voice. 

She truly didn’t, he realized. Her friends had been right. “No. You don’t, do you? It’s unbelievable.” He said shaking his head.

She felt her face start to burn with embarrassment, and she covered it up with indignation. “You know, screw you, Sebastian Vael.”

He looked taken aback. “What did you say?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Screw you.” She repeated, even louder. “Just because some men might find me attractive doesn’t mean you can just ruin my fun. Why is it even any of your business, anyway?” He was the one who had taken vows of chastity. Not her. _Stupid vows and stupid Andraste,_ she thought sullenly. _And stupid, stupid chastity_.

He was staring at her in disbelief. “Why is it my business?” he repeated. Had she been less drunk she might have noticed the glint in his eye.

She had been enjoying herself, had managed to forget all the things she had seen today, the corpses, and madness, and Bartrand, and that thrum of red lyrium, so strong that she had felt certain it was somewhere in the house. Anders didn’t think so. He thought that it was just Bartrand they were both feeling, Bartrand, who had been exposed to the stuff for so long. But what if it wasn’t? What if these strange abilities she’d gained in the Deep Roads got stronger? Or worse, what if they changed? What if she couldn’t hide them anymore? 

She immediately shut the thought out, finding it much easier to be angry at Sebastian.

He’d taken her away from the Hanged Man, from the dancing that had felt good, and made her forget and, yes, had actually made her feel sexy. Just dragged her away, like he had some sort of right to.

“You heard me.” She said, poking a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to be mad because other people find me sexy. You don’t find me sexy, fine. But that doesn’t mean no one else can.”

He just looked at her, not speaking. She failed to notice his hands clenching into fists at his sides. 

“Yeah. Don’t have an answer for that, do you?” She taunted. “Not everyone’s a celibate chantry brother, you know.” 

“No, they aren’t.” He muttered softly.

“Fucking right they’re not.” She shouted. “Some men are real men. Some men might actually want to kiss me, and touch me and...” She floundered for the phrase, fairly certain Isabela would have said “fuck me” but equally certain she couldn’t pull that off. “And do other stuff.” 

“Do other stuff.” Sebastian said flatly.

“Yes! Do other stuff. Just because you,” she poked his chest again, “are a dried up old stick in the mud who doesn’t even think about doing other stuff, doesn’t mean nobody else can. Most people think of it all the time.”

She missed the muscle clenching at his jaw, and continued with her tirade. “I think of it all the time. Kissing, and touching, and other stuff. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you? You don’t even fucking realize it. You don’t even know what you make me think of doing, because you’re so angelic, and so good, and so pure. You, with your eyes, and your smile, and your voice, and your shoulders.” She said, gesturing at them. 

His shoulders? He couldn’t keep a small smile from his face.

She saw it and reached out with both hands, shoving him as hard as she could. He hadn’t expected it, and actually staggered back a step. 

“Don’t you smirk at me, Sebastian Vael.” She warned. “You think you’re so marvelous because you can just walk away after you kiss someone. How can you do that? How can you just bloody well kiss me the way you did, and then just walk away? You just fucking shut it down… off…out…. You just stopped!” 

She took a step closer, and shoved again, pushing him against the wall this time. “Well, do you know what? I didn’t want to walk away, Sebastian Vael, and I didn’t want to stop at just kissing you.” Her eyes ran hungrily over him. “I wanted to do all sorts of other things. I wanted to throw you on the ground and tear your shirt off, and lick your chest, and just sink my teeth into you.” 

And she would never get to.

She tried to shove him again but he was already against the wall and there was nowhere for him to go. She lost her balance, and fell against him, still talking. “And then I wanted to pull my shirt off, and rub myself all over you, and, and…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was flush up against him, and his hands were on the bare skin of her hips. She was suddenly breathing hard, and unable to remember just where she had been going with this.

This close to him, all she could think of about was how his skin would feel to touch. Her eyes were level with his throat. How would it feel…? How would it taste…? She reached up a trembling hand and touched his neck.

He shivered. Her eyes darkened at the reaction, and she ran her nails lightly down his throat. Another shiver, and she could see his pulse beating madly. She wondered what he would do if she put her mouth just there, at that spot below his jaw. 

She put a hand on the breastplate of his armor and pulled gently, wondering if he would let her. He didn’t resist, or try and stop her, and she went up on her toes and leaned in, pausing for a moment to just breathe him in, before continuing forward and pressing her lips, just there…

He closed his eyes, savoring the touch. And then she licked him, her tongue hot against his skin, and he was lost.

She made a small noise of surprise as he suddenly grabbed both her wrists and turning, pushed her up against the wall, pinning her there, her hands trapped by her head. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth was on hers, not gently, not the way he had kissed her before. It came down hard on hers, hard enough that her lips were smashed against her teeth. She gave a little whimper and he pulled his head back, startled by the sound. Her eyes were huge and dark, and just a little afraid. 

No. He didn’t want that. He leaned forward and kissed her again, softly this time, just a brush of his lips against hers. He caught her upper lips between his own, and then the lower, moving, savoring, tasting and she realized that he was kissing her just the way she had imagined kissing him at Isabela’s party, and she just melted against him, her lips opening beneath his.

If she had fought him, or been angry, or even met him with lustful passion, he might have been able to stop, but this melting into him, just opening herself up and yielding completely, this he couldn’t resist. He softened the pressure of his mouth slightly and his tongue flicked gently at her lips, tasting, teasing. She tasted of the wine she’d drunk but underneath she was as sweet as honey and tasted of, Maker, of just Anabel. She was soft and pliant and just perfect. Her tongue met his, tentatively at first and then with more confidence as she explored and tasted him. He let go of her wrists, his hands moving to her waist savoring the feel of her bare skin beneath his calloused hands. He lifted her up, holding her there against the wall with the length of his body, pressing close, savoring the feel of her against him. Her hands slid into his hair and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. One of his arms slipped beneath her, holding her in place and the other slid into her hair, grasping her curls and pulling her head back as his mouth went to her throat and she arched against him. 

For one brief, insane moment he actually considered letting himself go, considered taking her, right here against a wall in Lowtown. It was only when he felt her hips grind against him, when he heard a low moan come from her throat that he came to his senses. 

He yanked her hands from his head, and pulled abruptly away. If she hadn’t had the wall to hold her up she would probably have fallen. 

He stood there breathing heavily. When he finally spoke his voice was thick with desire. “If you can have that effect on this old stick in the mud, do you begin to have any idea what those animals in the Hanged Man might have done to you?” He tried not to think of how close he had come to being one of those animals.

Anabel stared at him, her befuddled brain trying to comprehend what had just happened. Sebastian's whole body was rigid, his hands clenched into fists. He seemed furious. He wouldn’t even look at her. 

Dear Maker, what had she done? She’d kissed him and pawed at him. He’d never want to see her again after this, and who could blame him?  
Just another awful thing to happen on this horrible day. 

Sebastian looked down at the ground, trying to regain some semblance of control. He finally managed to look at Anabel. Her already lush mouth was swollen and bruised from his kisses and there was blood on her lower lip. Sweet Andraste. He had done that. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. His anger, his frustration, his lust – everything vanished at the sight of those tears. Only his need to protect her remained. He closed the distance between them and smoothed her hair back from her face and tried to brush the tears away.

“Anabel, please don’t cry I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Her lower lip began to tremble and the tears fell more freely. Helpless in the face of this he pulled her back into his arms, holding her, stroking her hair and her back, making soothing noises until she quieted. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled into his chest. “I just wanted to forget and I drank too much, and then you were just there, and you were you, and I couldn’t stop.”

She was apologizing to him. 

He pulled back and looked carefully at her. “What on Thedas happened tonight? You were fine when you left the chantry.” 

The tears began all over again. There was torrent of words, made almost incomprehensible by sobs. Something about a horrible day, and Bartrand, and pieces of people, and bodies everywhere, and then something about magic and lyrium, red lyrium, that made no sense at all. The narrative was far from coherent. 

“This isn’t a normal life.” She managed to gasp out. “Normal people don’t live like this. I don’t want to live like this. I just wanted to forget all of it. Just for a little while. If I kept drinking I could do that” She buried her face against him. “I’m sorry.” She repeated.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Ana. But don’t resort to alcohol. Come to me when it's too much. Talk to me. It will help, I promise.”

She wiped at her eyes with her fist, looking childlike. “You mean like confession? Like a Chantry brother?”

“No.” he snapped and she flinched. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.” He ran his hands through his hair, and turned back to her. “Not like confession. Like a friend. When it’s too much, tell me, Sebastian. Not Brother Sebastian.” He looked her in the eyes. “The things you see, all that you do. It’s too much for you to keep to yourself.”

He’d meant to be reassuring, but the tears once again threatened to overflow. “I can’t. There are things you don’t know about me. You’d hate me.” 

He smoothed her hair back, and tilted her face up. “Anabel Hawke. There is nothing under the sun that you could tell me that would make me hate you. I swear it. Nothing will ever change how I feel about you. All right?” 

She nodded. “Yes.” The rush of gratitude in her eyes filled him with shame at his earlier behavior. He was about to apologize again, when her face went suddenly green. He had just enough time to rush her to the side of the market and hold back her hair before she emptied her stomach at his feet.

 _Well, Vael,_ he thought, making soothing noises, as she retched again. _It’s hardly the reaction you used to get when you kissed a girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. They have belly dancing in Rivain. It could have been worse. In the first draft of this chapter, written months ago, it was a tango.
> 
> If anyone wants to see the not quite a shirt that Isabela lends Anabel I have some style reference pictures up on my tumblr 
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	16. A Mage or Not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke deals with the repercussions of her night of drinking, and Sebastian finally learns her secret.

Hawke woke the next morning sprawled across her bed. Her head was throbbing, her mouth tasted like the inside of one of Carver’s boots, and someone licking her feet. She groaned and kicked feebly. “Go away, Boy.” 

The mabari paused for a moment and then continued to lick. 

She kicked out more vigorously, somehow managing to stick her foot right into Boy’s warm, slobbery jowl. “Oh that’s disgusting.” She muttered, pulling it free. 

Boy chuffed, seeming to agree with her, and she heard his nails clattering on the tile as he crossed to the hearth and lay down on the rug. 

She forced one eye open, trying to decide how late it was. Someone had mercifully closed the curtains, so no clue there. She attempted to rise, but only succeeded in sliding partway off the bed, ending up on her knees beside it with her head and arms still resting on the mattress. It seemed much easier to close her eyes again.

She stayed there for a moment trying to recall the events of the previous evening. 

Bartrand’s mansion.

Offering to get drunk with Varric.

The Hanged Man.

Isabela offering to teach her how to tummy dance. _Belly dance_ corrected a voice in her head in a perfect Starkhaven accent.

Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright, ignoring the shooting pain that stabbed through her head.

_Oh please Maker no. Please let me have dreamt that part._

She looked down at what she was wearing, or to be more correct, partly wearing, as one breast had escaped the garment. She blushed, in spite of the fact no one else was around to see it, and yanked the top so she was covered again, praying desperately that she hadn’t exposed herself like that the previous evening.

She wouldn’t panic. She needed coffee and elfroot powder before she even attempted to remember anything more. 

She pushed herself up and stayed unmoving for a moment as her head throbbed and her stomach churned unpleasantly, wishing desperately that Anders would relax his no healing for hangovers policy. It seemed horribly unfair on mornings like this.

Moving ever so slowly, she changed her clothes, managing to pull on clean black leggings and a silk shirt in a dusky blue color, the garment chosen not so much for its color but for the fact that it was loose fitting and soft, and pulled over her head with no buttons or fastenings of any sort, just a string at the neck which she didn’t bother to tie. She ran her fingers through her hair, getting out any large tangles and tied it loosely back with a black ribbon. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked about how she felt; deathly pale, with just a hint of nauseated green beneath, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles that looked almost purple against her fair skin. She peered closer, running her tongue over the cut on her lower lip. She didn’t remember being in a fight, so how...

And then it all came flooding back…

Not a dream then.

She really needed coffee. 

She managed to pick up her boots from where they lay on the floor, but her stomach objected violently when she tried to bend over and put them on, so she left her room barefoot, carrying the boots, and carefully made her way down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing. It was brighter down here. Too bright she thought, trying to keep her eyes half closed. 

If she could just make it to the kitchen without Leandra…

“Anabel Esme Hawke!”

_Oh, crap._

 

Fifteen minutes later and Hawke was huddled miserably in the chair by the desk, rubbing gingerly at her temples. Leandra could have at least let her take something before she started in. She wasn’t really listening to her anymore, trying instead to reconstruct the events of the previous evening. Her mother’s complaints seemed to have come full circle, anyway. She was starting to repeat herself.

“…never been so embarrassed. The middle of the night….The prince of all people….a chantry brother….so humiliating. You, stinking of alcohol. And then to find out you’d been sick in front of him. Have you no shame Anabel? A fine impression you’re making on the nobility of this town. Are you trying to ruin your chances?”

 _Chances for what?_ She almost asked. To marry some pompous Hightown noble who’d act as if he’d done her a favor by marrying her? She wished Leandra would just finish already.

“It’s those friends of yours. I didn’t like them when we lived in Lowtown and I like them even less now. There may have been certain advantages in your association when we lived with Gamlen, but there’s no reason to continue to see them now that we’ve regained our proper place in society.” 

Anabel’s head jerked up at that. “No reason except that they are my friends and worth a hundred times more than these so called nobles you keep going on about.” She shouted, and immediately moaned at the sound, clutching at her head. Sweet Andraste, that had been a mistake. Perhaps if she stayed very still and very quiet the stabbing pain would stop. 

Of course if Leandra would just stop talking and let her find some elfroot, that would help too. 

She went back to trying to remember what had happened last night.

She remembered dancing with Isabela, though she couldn’t remember why that had seemed such a good idea at the time. 

She remembered kissing Sebastian. Maker, she would never forget that. A little fuzzy on the details of just how it had happened, though. 

Then vomiting endlessly, as he held back her hair. Not likely to forget that any time soon either. 

A dim memory of running into Aveline on the stairs to Hightown, and of Sebastian and Aveline getting her to the house. 

It was all a bit of a haze after that. 

She wondered if her mother would ever stop lecturing. 

She wondered if anyone’s head had actually exploded from a hangover. 

Neither she nor Leandra heard the knock on the door.

 

Sebastian looked down and smiled. “Good Morning, Bodahn. Or Good Afternoon, I suppose I should say.” He’d left for Hawke’s as soon as the midday service had ended. “I’ve come to see how Serrah Hawke is doing. I thought perhaps a rescue might be needed.” 

It had been obvious that Leandra had been absolutely furious with her daughter when they’d brought her home, though she had tried very hard to hide it. His eyebrows rose at the sound of voices from the other room. Well, one very unhappy voice belonging to Leandra Amell Hawke.

His eyes met Bodahn’s, and understanding flashed between them.

“Yes, Your Highness. I believe a rescue would be most welcome.” The dwarf agreed. “I’ll just tell them you’re here.” 

Sebastian waited in the foyer to be announced. He couldn’t help overhearing, and his face darkened as he listened. He moved towards the door to the main room.

“If you have any hopes at all of marrying well, or even of marrying at all, you simply cannot continue to behave like this, Anabel. Maker knows you’ll never get a husband with your looks; your behavior must be beyond reproach.”

Hawke stared at her mother. For some reason today the familiar refrain bothered her. “You don’t have the looks or bearing of the Amells, but you could at least act like them.” She said, mimicking Leandra perfectly.

Leandra stopped her pacing and glared at her daughter. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady. I’m only speaking the truth. I dread to think what you’ve done to yourself socially, now that you’ve manage to utterly humiliate yourself in front of the one noble in this town whom you hadn’t already alienated with your antics.”

Hawke flushed at the word “humiliate” but looked mutinous. “He’s not like that. He likes my antics.” She muttered, and wondered if it were still true. Andraste knew how Sebastian felt about her after last night. A worried frown crinkled her brow and Leandra spotted it immediately.

“Yes, now you’re beginning to understand that there might be repercussions from your behavior. You’ve never appreciated what an important man Sebastian Vael is, or how surprising it is that he shows you such favor. How you even managed to capture his attention is something I’ll never understand.” 

_I avenged his family by killing a score of mercenaries and we fought a desire demon together. And somewhere between that we watched a completely naked nobleman get a blow job._ She looked down at her lap, tempted to say it out loud, just to see what Leandra’s reaction would be.

“No doubt he feels sorry for you and is just being kind.” 

Maker’s tits, her mother could be a bitch, she thought, surprised by the hurt that last remark had caused. She looked away, biting down on her lower lip, not wanting Leandra to see it.

“Excuse me, Lady Amell, Sebastian Vael is here.”

Both women turned their heads to see Bodahn standing there, and Sebastian right behind him, looking more grim than Anabel had ever seen him. And who could blame him she thought miserably, even as she quickly scrambled to her feet. The movement caused a wave of nausea and a stab of pain in her head and she grasped the corner of the desk to steady herself before giving up and sinking back into the chair.

Leandra recovered first, her annoyed look immediately replaced with what Hawke referred to as her Lady Amell face. “Sebastian! How good of you to call, especially after what Anabel put you through last night.” 

Sebastian stared at her, looking every inch the haughty prince. “Lady Amell.” He said eventually. 

Even Leandra seemed taken aback by the coldness in his voice. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me reprimanding Anabel for her behavior.” She said her smile faltering a bit. “I do hope you can forgive her.”

Anabel was looking down at her lap. She hadn’t thought Sebastian could even be cold. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she had managed to alienate him. She couldn’t bear to look up and see if that were truly the case. 

“Actually Anabel promised me last night that she would spend some time at the Chantry today.” 

She frowned. All right, she didn’t remember that at all. She dared a quick glance. He was still looking at her mother, and still looked positively grim. Shit. She’d mucked it up completely.

Sebastian was furious. Anabel’s friends had been right. He couldn’t believe he’d never realized how Leandra belittled her daughter and how successfully she’d hidden it from him, though she apparently didn’t bother to hide it from the others. He’d come here this morning, fully prepared to soothe her ire, to smooth things between her and her daughter, but his only thought now was how quickly could he get Anabel away from her. 

Leandra seemed uncertain how to handle this different Sebastian. “Of course. Again, I apologize for her behavior. She …”

Sebastian cut her off, not even turning his head to look at her, staring instead at Anabel, huddled in her chair. “It’s rather cool out today. She’ll need a cloak.” 

“Of course. I’ll fetch one.” Said Leandra, utterly cowed now. She quickly left the room. 

Anabel stayed in her chair, still too cowardly to look at him. She bent down, reaching for her boots but had to stop mid movement again as nausea almost overwhelmed her. 

Sebastian was suddenly there, kneeling in front of her. He took her boot from her hand and held it in front of her foot. She looked at him in surprise. His eyes were warm and kind and even sympathetic, and she could have sworn she saw just a hint of a smile. She felt a small flicker of hope, as she slid her foot in. He did the same for the other boot, and then helped her to her feet, as carefully as if she had been made of spun glass. Leandra returned with the cloak and Sebastian took it from her, before she had a chance to say anything. 

“Come, Anabel.” He said putting a guiding hand at her back. He gave Leandra the briefest of nods. “Lady Amell.” He didn’t wait for her to respond.

They left the house and stepped into the bright midday sunlight. Anabel immediately winced, turning her head away, her hands groping at the wall. Sebastian stepped in front of her blocking her from the sun. She squinted up at him as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile.

“You’re enjoying this.” She said accusingly, trying to shade her eyes. 

“No, just feeling very glad I no longer drink the way I used to. Believe me, Anabel, when I say I feel your pain.” He draped her cloak over her shoulders, fastening the closure at her neck, before reaching over and gently pulling the hood up and forward, so it shaded her face. 

“I’m sorry.” She said, so softly that he barely heard it.

She was staring up at him, the green of her cloak bringing out the emerald of her eyes. He tucked back a stray curl. She’d looked so forlorn just sitting there as her mother berated her. Small and pale and wan, childlike, sitting there in her bare feet. The boots she wore had no heels, and standing this close to him she had to tilt her head all the way back to look at him. “How is it I always forget what a tiny thing you are?” He asked with a teasing smile.

She smiled tentatively back. “Because I get myself into such very large messes?” 

“That must be it. Come.” He said tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. “The Chantry awaits.” He kept his pace slow.

Hawke sighed. “Are you really going to make me pray and repent all day?”

“You don’t think it’s called for?” He asked, his voice carefully neutral.

She sighed. No getting out of it, apparently. “Yes, I suppose it probably is.” She said resigning herself to it.

When they reached the imposing building, Sebastian led her to the side entrance. If they weren’t going to the Chantry itself, where was he taking her? Did they have special repentance rooms or something? 

Her confusion only increased when he led her into the massive kitchens. She winced at the noise of more than a dozen people hard at work, but dutifully followed Sebastian as he walked over to one the cooks. He looked up as they approached, his eyes flickering briefly to Hawke, his curiosity evident, but he didn’t ask any question just nodded towards a basket on the counter. “There you go, Brother Sebastian. Just as you asked.” 

“Thank you, Brother Elias.” Sebastian picked up the basket and led Anabel to a door in the back of the kitchen, holding it open so she could walk through.

She stepped out and into the Chantry garden. She turned a questioning face to him, but he walked past her and she followed him to a stone bench in the shadiest corner. Hawke sank gratefully down on it. How much had she drunk that the short walk to the Chantry had left her feeling this shaky? 

Sebastian was rummaging through the basket. He took out a cloth, spreading it on the bench between them, and then started taking out food; fresh bread and cheese, and thinly sliced ham, and what appeared to be a jug of cider. She looked all of it with a small shudder. She would not be sick in front of him, not again. 

“This is starting to look suspiciously like a picnic.” She said accusingly. “I thought I was supposed to be praying and repenting.”

He took a bunch of grapes from the basket. “Why would you think that?”

Her brow crinkled in confusion. “You said…” her voice trailed off.

His blue eyes were merry. “Actually you said. I just asked if you thought it was called for.” 

Her hangover must be making her stupid. “But I was horribly drunk and totally inappropriate. Aren’t I supposed repent and be punished?”

He looked over at her. “Are you sorry?”

“Yes, of course. I was awful and horrid and caused trouble for everyone.” 

“All right. That’s the repentance taken care of. How are you feeling?”

“Vile.” She admitted.

“And that’s the punishment.” He reached into the basket, and pulled out a healing potion, holding it out to her. “Here. This should help.” 

She stared at him, feeling remarkably dimwitted. “I don’t understand.” 

“Everyone’s allowed an occasional night of drunken stupidity. Go on, drink it.” He coaxed. 

She opened the vial, took a sip and made a face. 

“All of it.” He ordered. 

She closed her eyes and did as he asked, shuddering slightly as she handed him back the empty vial. The effect was almost instantaneous. The pounding in her head slowly faded, her stomach stopped its wild churning. He watched with satisfaction as her entire body seemed to relax, and the color came back to her face. 

She turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get Anders to heal you.”

She leaned back on her hands, looking around the garden, enjoying the cool breeze. Autumn was definitely here, and after the stifling heat of a Kirkwall summer, if felt wonderful. “Anders won’t give me potions or healing anymore when I’m hungover. He’s annoyingly superior and moral about it.” 

“Really?” 

“You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am. I assumed he wouldn’t be able to say no to you.” He had to work to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

Anabel didn’t notice, just let out a burst of laughter. “Hardly.” 

He handed her a slice of bread and cheese and watched as she took a tentative bite, swallowed, and then took another, with slightly more enthusiasm. He poured her some cider from a jug, and handed it to her. “I’ve never seen you quite that drunk.” 

Her hand hesitated for a moment before she took the cup. “It doesn’t happen very often, and honestly I didn’t intend to last night. I was trying to cheer up Varric, and then I realized it was helping me forget too, so I just kept going. Not the brightest thing I’ve done.” 

He took a bite of his own bread and cheese. “So Varric needed cheering up and you needed to forget. Just what happened at Bartrand’s?” 

She took a sip of her cider before she replied. “Varric was right about Bartrand being in Kirkwall. You've probably figured that out already. He’s insane. Bartrand, that is, not Varric. And not insane the way everyone in Kirkwall is insane. I mean like really insane. He’d tortured his men. Cut them up. Force fed them lyrium, and worse. Varric’s had him moved to an asylum.” 

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard for him.” 

“Yes, very hard. I've never seen him like that. And it's not just last night, but everything that's happened with Bartrand. I think only your family can do that. Only people who are supposed to take care of you and love you unconditionally can hurt you quite so badly when they do just the opposite.”

He watched her, thinking of what he had witnessed earlier. “Does your mother always speak to you like that?” 

“Like what? Oh, you mean back at the house?” She gave a small shrug. “I suppose she does.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” 

“A little, sometimes." She sighed. "But she’s just being honest. I’m not beautiful. I don’t look like the Amells. I don’t try to fit into Hightown society and I don’t care what the nobles think. Leandra doesn’t understand that at all.” She gave him an easy smile. “You’re the only reason that she hasn’t entirely given up on me. I don’t have the heart to point out to her that you’re just a nice person. You like me in spite of my bad manners, and shocking behavior, and strange friends. And you like me even though I’m too little and too skinny, and have horrible out of control orange hair, and it doesn’t matter to you that I’ll never be elegant. She forgets that you’re a priest. My looks, or rather the lack of them, just aren’t important to you.” She took another bite of her sandwich. 

There was so much wrong with her statement that for a moment he didn’t know where to start. “I think my actions last night prove that I find you attractive. More than attractive” He finally said.

She blushed and couldn’t meet his eye. He brought his hand to her face and turned it so she had to look at him. “Anabel, hasn’t anyone ever told you? You’re beautiful.”

She started to laugh but stopped when she saw the expression in his eyes. “How do you do that?” She asked, shaking her head.

“Do what?” His finger brushed lightly against her cheek.

“How do you look so convincing and sincere that it makes me feel it would just be wrong not to believe you? With just a look. You could tell me that it wouldn’t hurt to walk across hot coals and I would believe you.”

He let his hand fall to his lap. “Well, I don’t know about hot coals, but if I look sincere when I tell you you’re beautiful, it’s because you are. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” 

She couldn’t look away for a moment, and when she did she was more confused than before. “You must have been so much trouble when you were the wild prince.”

The words were truer than she knew. “How much do you remember of last night?” He asked carefully.

She blushed bright pink, and he couldn’t help smiling. So she remembered the kiss at least.

“Anabel, look at me.” 

She turned her head to face him. Her eyes were uncertain. 

“I want to apologize for my actions last night. I took advantage of the fact you’d overindulged. It was very wrong of me.” He had agonized for most of the night. He was convinced more now than ever that he should stay in the Chantry. He had slipped back into the role of the rogue prince far too easily.

She looked even more embarrassed. “You don’t need to apologize. I was disgustingly drunk, and being stupidly naïve. You were just trying to make a point.”

 _No,_ he thought, _I was just unable to resist you_. “I was quite swept away by your charms at least. Will you forgive me?” He turned those vivid blue eyes on her.

“Only if you forgive me in return.” She said firmly.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” 

She couldn’t help smiling. “You’re very kind but we both know that’s not true. I practically assaulted you.”

He reached out and brushed his finger lightly against the cut on her lip. “And yet you’re the one that bears a mark. A mark from the kiss I gave you after I slammed you up against the wall.” 

“You didn't slam! And you only did that after I licked you!” A bewildered expression came over her face. “This is the oddest conversation to be having with a priest.”

He couldn’t keep a wry smile from his face. “It’s certainly a first for me.”

“You see?” She said, shaking her head. “After what I did I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.” 

“I’m not certain there’s anything you could do that would cause that to happen.” 

She couldn’t help smiling. “Well I hope that’s true, because I can’t imagine I won’t keep testing you. I don’t know why you put up with me, but I’m awfully glad you do.” 

They smiled stupidly at each other for a minute, before she tore her eyes away. “I don’t suppose your friend put any cookies in that basket?” She asked to distract herself from the sudden pressing need she had to touch him. 

He peered inside. “No cookies, but there are some rather promising looking tarts.” He said reaching for one. “Raspberry, I think. Can I tempt you?” he asked, without thinking. Dammit. He hadn’t meant that. He felt his cheeks grow hot. 

She burst out laughing. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to have someone else do that.” Still laughing she took the tart from his hand. “Yes, you can tempt me.” She said with a teasing smile. _You can and you do_ , she thought.

They sat in silence for a moment, finishing the tarts.

Sebastian thought about how upset she had been last night. What she had seen at Bartrand’s had sounded awful, there was no denying that, but she saw such things all the time. Why had this time caused such a reaction?

“That’s an awfully serious expression.” She commented with an easy smile. She felt so much better now. “Have you changed your mind?” 

“I was thinking about something you said last night.” 

“That's worrying. You’d better tell me what.”

He turned to face her. “You were talking about Bartrand, and wanting to be normal, and you mentioned something I'd never heard of. What's red lyrium?” he asked.

Her smile disappeared and she straightened up, brushing the crumbs from her lap. He noted with concern that her hands were actually shaking.

He quickly knelt down in front of her taking her hands in his own. “Anabel, I’m sorry. Forget that I asked.”

Her hands tightened on his, but she still didn’t look at him. “No. It’s all right. I’ve actually wanted to tell you about this for a while. Not what red lyrium is, something else. The red lyrium is part of it though.” She looked up at him and he saw the same fear in her eyes he’d seen that day in the Keep.

“You don’t have to.” He insisted.

“I want you to know. Truly. It's just difficult. Help me clean all this up and then I’ll tell you.”

They cleared the remains of the picnic away and put the basket on the ground. He sat down beside her and waited for her to speak.

She stared out at the garden for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then turned to him. “Something happened during the expedition. Something that changed me. How much do you know about the Deep Roads?” She asked.

“What most people know, I suppose. Lost dwarven cities. Darkspawn. Lyrium.”

“Yes. That does sum it up pretty well.” She agreed. “But Bartrand was looking for something else. Found something else, I should say. Something he called a primeval thaig.”

“Primeval? So, something older than the lost Thaigs?”

“Yes. Most dwarfs didn’t think it was real, but we found it a week below the surface. And we found something there. Some sort of idol, cast out of lyrium." 

He frowned. “I didn’t think you could cast lyrium?”

“Neither did any of us. It was a different kind of lyrium. Not the blue that the dwarves sell the Chantry, but red. It was different, and it wasn't just the color. It glowed. Pulsated really, like it was alive. And I could hear it.”

He stared at her not understanding. “Hear it?”

She nodded. “It hummed. Thrummed. Loud and low and I could feel it at the base of my skull, like it was trying to get into my head. It set my teeth on edge.” She gave a small shudder.

“Did it affect the others the same way?” He asked.

She hesitated for just a second before answering. “Anders could feel it.”

He caught the omission. “But not Carver or Varric?”

“No.”

“Do you know why?”

“Anders has some theories.” She took a deep breath. “Do you know how you inherit some traits from your parents or grandparents but not others? Like Carver having Da’s eyes, but otherwise looking completely like the Amells.”

“Yes. I have my Grandmother Meghan’s eyes, but no one else inherited them.” 

She looked surprised. “Really? I’ve been thinking of them as Vael eyes this whole time.”

“No, they’re Gordon eyes." She was stalling. "What does this have to do with the red lyrium?”

“Anders thought that perhaps I’d inherited some magic from my father, just a touch, that let me hear the red lyrium the way a mage would.”

That couldn’t be right. You couldn’t have just a touch of magic. You either were a mage or you weren’t. That was what the Chantry taught. “And you’d never felt anything before you came across the red lyrium?”

“When I was little I always thought that blue lyrium gave off a tiny buzz, but I dismissed that as an overactive imagination when I got older.” 

He thought about it for a minute. “It’s an interesting theory.”

“I thought so too. I got all excited. I wanted to run back to Kirkwall and ask the First Enchanter all about it, until it was pointed out to me that I would probably end up thrown into the Gallows if I did.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He said automatically and then realized she was right.

“Is it? There are countless mages locked in Circles all over Thedas who aren’t strong mages at all, or whose talents couldn’t hurt anyone. Bethany wasn’t a particularly strong mage, but she would have been considered dangerous because her talent lay in elemental magic, in fire spells. They were weak, and they definitely weren’t reliable. Da spent most of his time just getting her to be able to control it, rather than expanding her learning to any of the other schools of magic. She would have been judged dangerous and tossed in the Circle. There’s no grey area for the Chantry. You either are a mage or you aren’t.”

The words echoed his earlier thoughts, and he couldn’t think of what to say. 

She gave him a wistful smile and continued. “In any case, Bartrand took the idol from us and locked us up in the chamber. We found our way out eventually, but we had to go deeper into the thaig first." Her voice sounded far away, and she seemed lost in the memory now. "It was so strange there. The creatures that we saw, spoke to….well, I’ll tell you about that another time if you really want to hear about it, but the thing you need to know is that the red lyrium was everywhere, almost as if it were growing. It actually looked like tree branches or vines, twining around columns and up the sides of buildings and ruins. It gave off this sinister red light, and there was always that thrumming hum, right at the base of your neck. It made it hard to think. Knowing I was so far underground, surrounded by stone and dim red light, and always that hum. You don't know how much I longed to be out in the sun. To see the sky and feel the wind." She looked around the garden. "This, right here...it would have seemed like heaven to me." 

He remembered how she'd stopped and held her face to the sun the first time he'd brought her here. He hadn't understood why then. 

She seemed to shake herself free, and continued speaking. “After we’d been down there about a week or so I realized I could feel Anders’ magic.”

“Feel it?” Sebastian asked, not quite understanding.

She nodded. “When he was about to cast a spell, or when he was healing, I could… feel it. Feel him reaching out and pulling it together, gathering it to him. I asked Anders about it and we agreed it was…unusual for me to be able to do that. And when he thought about it he realized his magic had been getting stronger. More powerful. Easier to use.”

He realized what she was trying to say. “Like yours was.” She had some sort of magical ability. Not one he had ever heard of, but something. _You either were a mage or you weren’t._ “Was it the red lyrium?”

“That’s what we think. And the longer we were around it…”

“The stronger your abilities grew.” 

“Exactly. We didn’t tell Carver or Varric about it. Carver was already freaking out about being trapped.” She managed to keep her voice casual, but she couldn’t look at him. Was afraid to look at him. Afraid of what she might see on his face. And then she felt him take her hand. She looked up at him, and saw nothing but warmth and concern and sympathy.

“It must have been frightening.” He said gently.

“Terrifying.” She admitted. “I thought if we stayed down there too long I would become a mage – a real mage. If we came back here, if I were caught by the Templars no one would have believed the story about the red lyrium. They would have just thought I was an apostate. Well, I would have been, wouldn’t I? But I would have been an apostate who’d never had any training, one with unknown powers. I would have been considered dangerous. There would have been no hesitation. I would probably have been executed or made tranquil. And if by some miracle they let me undergo the Harrowing I wouldn’t have survived it. I would have magic, but no idea how to use it, no idea how to defend myself with it.” Her eyes were distant, though she gripped his hand tightly.

“You know what the Harrowing is, don’t you?” He asked, looking at her in surprise. It was one of the Chantry’s most closely guarded secrets. Only the Templars, the harrowed mages and the highest ranking clergy were supposed to know.

“Yes. Da told us. Warned us.” She looked at him, “You don’t know?” She asked, making it more a statement than a question.

“No, of course not.” There were stories of course, each more fantastical then the next.

“Would you like to?” She asked gently.

If you had asked him that this morning he would have said, no, that such knowledge was not for everyone. Now that it was something that potentially threatened Anabel, the answer was entirely different. “Yes.”

She pulled her hand free and seemed to sit up straighter. “When they feel you’ve trained enough, you’re brought to a special chamber. There’s no warning and no explanation. It’s usually done in the middle of the night. The First Enchanter is there, and the Knight Commander and some other Templars. The number varies depending on how dangerous they think you are. They give you pure lyrium and send you into the Fade.” She looked off into the distance as she spoke. “And then they summon a demon. If you manage to resist it, you wake up a fully harrowed mage. If you can’t, the demon takes you over and the Templars kill you. And if you take too long the Templars kill you anyway. Just in case.” She turned and looked at him. “And that’s the Harrowing.”

It was harsh. Utterly without mercy. And, he was forced to admit, ruthlessly effective. But how many poor souls had lost their lives? How many Templars had acted too soon? How many Knight Commanders had used it to rid themselves of mages they thought might cause trouble. For a brief moment he wished he hadn’t asked. There had to be a better way. A more merciful way. 

She watched him, wondering what he was thinking. When he didn’t speak, she continued with her story. “I didn’t have too long to worry about it. We found a way out, and then we found out Carver had been tainted, and it was suddenly unimportant. You know the rest.”

“The ability didn’t diminish once you were away from the red lyrium?” He said, knowing already what the answer would be.

“No.”

“And you can feel more than just mages doing magic, can’t you?”

“Yes.” 

“That day in the Keep. With Tahrone’s book.” 

“Yes. I was so frightened when I realized how careless I had been. When I realized you knew.” 

“I could tell you were scared. I didn’t understand why.” He remembered how she had unerringly tracked Allure, how she had sensed the Arcane Horror before it manifested, that day at the Harimann’s. “You can sense magical creatures as well. Demons and horrors and such.”

“Yes.”

“Can you actually…” The question suddenly seemed terribly personal.

“Can I do magic?” She shook her head. “No. Not even a little bit.”

“Has it changed at all since you returned?”

“It’s gotten more precise. I think it’s because I’m getting used to it. I can tell when there’s magic around, where it is. I can tell what sort of magic it is.” She hesitated again. “I can tell if someone is a mage.”

He wondered at the hesitation. “Yes, you said that.”

“No. I can tell someone is a mage, even if they aren’t doing magic.”

He stared at her. “No one can do that.”

“I can.” She admitted reluctantly.

And he realized why she was afraid. The Knight Commander and her mage hunts. What would Meredith do to have someone with Anabel’s ability working for her? She was afraid she would be forced to hunt mages. Mages like her father and sister. Like Anders and Merrill. 

Her eyes were determined. “Meredith can’t find out. I won’t be used to hunt down mages. I’d rather die.” 

He didn’t doubt she meant it. “There’s no reason Meredith would find out about it now.” He made it a promise. Her whole body relaxed, and he realized that she hadn’t been certain of his reaction to her revelation, but that she’d told him, trusted him anyway.

He sat for a moment, processing everything she had just told him. “Did Bartrand have the idol with him last night? Was that why you were so upset?” He asked. 

“I felt something. That same dull thrum, but we didn’t find it there. Bartrand claims he sold it.” 

“Did Anders feel it as well?”

“He felt something but he thought it was just Bartrand, because he’d been exposed to the idol for so long.”

“But you don’t.”

“I don’t know. I just know I felt something. What if it’s changed me again?” There was a desperation to her voice. 

“Do you feel different?” 

“No.” she admitted.

“Perhaps Anders is right then.”

She looked at him, wanting it to be true. “You’re being so calm about all of this.” 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. That day in the Keep I thought you were a mage.” 

“What changed your mind?” she asked.

“Isabela.”

She looked surprised. “Isabela? But she doesn’t know.”

“I think you underestimate her. She might not know precisely, but she knows there’s something. When you ran off that day she stopped me going after you. Insisted I take her to lunch instead and told me in no uncertain terms that you had your secrets but being a mage wasn’t one of them.”

A smile curved her mouth. “Just when I want to throttle her for putting me in that shirt she does something blindly trusting and loyal.”

“She cares for you.”

“I’ll bet she made you pay for lunch.”

“She did.” He said with a smile. He turned and looked out at the garden, considering everything that he had learned today.

She watched him carefully. “What are you really thinking about all this?” 

He turned those serene blue eyes to her and smiled. “I was thinking that the Maker’s world is full of mysteries. And that whatever this ability is, you’ve made it a gift.”

“Have I?” she asked, her voice a little tremulous.

“I’ve only ever seen you use it to find evil. To fight evil and destroy it.” How many times had he thought she did the Maker’s work?

He knew there were others who wouldn’t see it that way and he vowed he would keep her safe from them. “So Anders knows. And Isabela, apparently. Does anyone else?”

“Varric. It’s dangerous for humans. We thought if only dwarfs were sent back to the Thaig it would be safer.”

He nodded. “Because of their resistance to magic.” He frowned suddenly. “Fenris doesn’t know?”

For the first time she looked embarrassed. “I’ve been too much of a coward to tell him. You know how he feels about magic.”

He thought of the way they fought together, how she always seemed to know just where he was. “I would have thought he knew. Isn’t your ability part of the way you fight so well together?” 

She looked at him, not understanding. 

“If you can sense magic, don’t you sense the lyrium in his tattoos?”

She looked suddenly pale. “Sweet Andraste. I’ve been using that when we fight.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” She denied it. And then she thought about it. Maybe she had. She remembered the difficulty they had when they first trained together, and how it was only when she had relaxed, when she’d tried to feel where he was… and then she just could. “Oh Maker.” She looked horrified.

Sebastian was watching her, his face carefully neutral. 

“I have to tell him.” She said. 

“Yes.” Sebastian agreed.

“He’s going to be so angry with me. So hurt.”

“He might be, but I can come with you when you do.” 

“Thank you.” Having Sebastian with her would make it easier. How could she have not realized she was doing it?

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” He said softly.

She turned to him and smiled. “I’m glad I did. I didn’t like keeping it from you.” She tilted her head. “So, what do you think? Am I a mage, or not?”

“I’m honestly not quite sure what you are.” He confessed. “But If I had to answer, I’d say no. What you do actually sounds more like what the Templars can do.”

“I’ve though that myself. It would make sense, I suppose. They take lyrium to enhance their abilities.”

Some part of him knew that, but like most others he’d never considered what it might actually mean. “Does that mean that Templars have magical abilities?” 

“It’s an interesting thought, isn’t it?” She said. “I don’t know. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding them. And from what I hear they guard their secrets closely.

“Very true.” What must her life had been like, always on the run, always hiding, her more than the rest of the family, it seemed. He stared at her, suddenly wondering…

She glanced over at him. He was looking at her intently. “What?” She asked apprehensively.

“I can’t help thinking there’s something more to your abilities. When you were a child, why were you disguised and not Bethany? Why did your father watch you so closely even after your sister’s magic had shown itself? Why did he insist you stay disguised even after you'd passed the age when most magic shows itself?”

“I don’t know.” And then she realized what he was hinting at. “You think he knew I had magic.”

“I think he might have.”

“But how? Mages can’t do that.” She insisted.

“You can.” He pointed out.

She stared at him. “You think my father had the same ability?”

“If one can inherit blue green eyes, why not a particular rare magical talent? I think it’s a definite possibility.” 

She frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If he could sense the small bit of magic I might have had, then why wouldn’t he have sensed Bethany’s magic? She truly was a mage, and it was something that took all of us by surprise.”

“My theory does fall apart there.” He admitted. 

“But it makes sense up to that point.” She gave a groan of frustration. “Maker, I wish I could ask him about it.” 

“Did he leave anything behind? A journal perhaps?”

She suddenly remembered Tobrius and the letters. “We had some letters. Letters he had written to a Templar friend of his after he left Kirkwall. A mage named Tobrius at the Gallows had kept them. I wonder if there’s anything in them?”

“Do you still have them?” 

“I’m not certain. They might be in a trunk or maybe still at Gamlen’s. We could try talking to Tobrius. He knew my father as well. I don’t think they were particularly close but he might know something. Do you think the First Enchanter...? “

“No.” He said immediately. “Anders is right. That would be far too dangerous.”

“Yes. I suppose so. There must be someone else.” She racked her brain. “Maybe I could sneak into the library at the Gallows and see if there’s anything in there about this kind of magic.” There must be someone there who would help her do that. Maybe Thrask… 

“There is someone else we could talk to.” Said Sebastian, as if it were obvious. “Someone quite literally closer to home.” 

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

“I was thinking we should talk to your mother.”


	17. We Always Thought It Would Be You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Hawke talk to Leandra.

Fenris looked at Hawke, his face closed off in a way that she hadn’t seen in years. “You are saying you are a mage?”

Hawke opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. “I don’t know what I am.” The answer was at least honest. She knew that if she had any hopes of keeping Fenris’ friendship she had to be completely truthful.

“But you have been using my markings? Using me.” He began pacing back and forth.

It was exactly the reaction she’d feared. “Not intentionally. I didn’t know. I didn’t realize until Sebastian asked me about it...“ 

Fenris halted his pacing, and turned his head to stare at her. 

“Yes.” She said. Only the truth would do.

She and Sebastian had left the Chantry and come straight to Fenris’ mansion, walking past the broken furniture and desiccated corpses, up to the room that he had claimed as his own. He’d been surprised, but glad to see them.

And then she’d watched as his pleasure disappeared and he slowly withdrew into himself as she told him the story of what had happened to her in the Deep Roads.

“Why did you not tell me about this before?” 

“I should have. I was a coward.” She had expected him to get angry. To yell about mages, about using him, about deceiving him. But he had just gone cold. Not even cold, but blank. His face showed nothing. 

A look he must have perfected in Tevinter, as Danarius’ bodyguard.

“I’m so sorry Fenris.” She whispered hoarsely.

“Well you have told me now. There is no need for you to stay.” 

He saw her slump just a little, “Of course.” She moved towards the door and paused. “Are you still willing to come with me to the Bone Pit tomorrow? I need to make other arrangements if you don’t feel we can work together any longer.” She asked without turning.

Because she was facing away from him, she missed the look of surprise that came to his face. 

After a horribly long moment, he finally answered. “I have said I would go with you.”

“Thank you.” She said softly and left the room.

Fenris turned to Sebastian who had been standing by the fireplace the whole time. “Did you know?”

Sebastian’s face was carefully neutral. “About her abilities? Or that she was using them when you fought together?”

“Both.”

“No. I only just found out today.”

Fenris turned away. “I wish to be alone.”

“Of course.” Sebastian said. “But I would ask that you keep two things in mind.”

Fenris’ jaw clenched. He wanted to rage and refuse, but Sebastian had never been anything but honorable and kind. “Ask then.”

“Remember how she was when she returned from the Deep Roads, how lost and how alone. Remember how long it took her to recover from the loss of her brother, and how vital your friendship and fighting partnership were to her recovery.”

Fenris couldn’t help remember how she had drifted through his mansion like a ghost when she returned without Carver. “And the other thing?” He said before his emotions could overpower his anger.

“I was with her today when she realized she had been using your markings. She was genuinely unaware that she had been. And when that conversation ended the first thing she did was come here. Knowing how you feel about magic, and knowing that people had used you for your magic, as soon as she realized what she had done she came to tell you, knowing full well that it might cost her your friendship.” Sebastian watched the emotions play over Fenris’ face. “If you’d like to talk later, you know where you can find me.” He said simply, and went in search of Anabel.

He found her outside of Fenris’ mansion leaning against the wall, looking miserable. 

“Will he forgive me do you think?” She asked as soon as he walked up to her.

“I think he will. Give him some time.”

She sighed. “Let’s go talk with Leandra.” She said pushing away from the wall.

He looked at her with some concern. “Are you certain you want to speak with your mother today? It can wait.”

“No. It couldn’t be worse than that conversation with Fenris. And even if it is...” She turned to face him. “I need to know what I am. I have to see if she knows anything.”

He nodded. “Very well. We need to stop by the market first though.” He said taking her arm.

“The Market?”

“Yes. I want to pick up some flowers and wine for your mother.” He explained as they walked through the Chantry plaza.

“It’ll take more than wine and flowers to get Leandra to open up.” She informed him. “She doesn’t talk about our life in Fereldan. She doesn’t talk about my father. She likes to pretend she never left Kirkwall. Like it was all a mistake.” She felt her throat tighten. 

Sebastian glanced down at her. “Perhaps it just that she can’t talk about it with you. My being there might help. As might the wine and flowers.”

Anabel gave him a doubtful look. 

“I can be very persuasive.” Sebastian said with a roguish smile that made him look years younger. “And my years at court in Starkhaven did give me a modicum of diplomatic skills.”

She sighed. “You’re saying I can’t be diplomatic?”

“I’m suggesting that sometimes a less direct approach can be more successful.”

A diplomatic response. A small smile curved her lips. “All right. We’ll try it your way.”

They talked easily of unimportant things as they made their way to the market. They stopped and picked up some champagne. As they headed out of the market he stopped by a flower stand. The proprietor, a portly, middle aged man came over, beaming at them. “Brother Sebastian!”

Sebastian gave him a charming smile. “Hello, Sam. This is Serrah Hawke. We need some flowers for her mother, Lady Amell. Something elegant. Burnt oranges and deep reds, I think. A mixed bouquet.”

“Roses?” Suggested Sam  
.  
“Some roses yes, but some greenery as well, and something else. Orchids perhaps, or callas. Perhaps alstroemeria?”

She listened as the two men discussed colors and combinations, which greenery should be added, what shape the bouquet should have. They finally finished and Sam went to put them all together. Sebastian glanced down at Anabel.

She had an amused smile on her face. “You used to do this a lot didn’t you?” 

“Purchase flowers, you mean? I did. A well timed and generous bouquet could be very helpful when I’d behaved badly, as I did all too often, I’m afraid.” 

“All it took was flowers and you were forgiven?” She said arching an eyebrow. 

“It doesn’t work with you?” He asked with a teasing look.

She opened her mouth as if to reply, but gave him a small slightly awkward smile instead, before becoming unduly fascinated by the flowers in front of her.

He looked at her, perplexed by her reaction, and almost immediately realized his mistake.

When would she ever have received flowers from a suitor or a lover? He excused himself, and quickly walked over to the florist. 

“I need something else, Sam.” He said, carefully surveying the flowers in front of him, looking for just the perfect thing and his eyes lit up when he saw them. 

Anabel watched him as returned to her side, bearing not one bouquet, but two. He held the smaller one out to her: A small bunch of the prettiest pink roses she’d ever seen. 

“For you.” he said. 

She looked from him to the flowers to him again. “For me?” She repeated. “Why?” 

He couldn’t help smiling. “Because every beautiful young lady deserves flowers as pretty as she is.”

She blushed, before reaching out and taking them from him. They’d looked pink from a distance, but close up she realized the inner petals had a peachy tone to them. She lifted them and inhaled the scent. 

Sebastian watched with satisfaction. As he’d suspected, the color matched her flawless skin almost perfectly, blush and all.

She looked up at him with a shy smile. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”

“That seems almost criminal.” He said. His eyes were warm.

“Thank you.” She said, and gave him a mischievous glance. “I understand a bit better how this might get you out of trouble now.” She admitted.

She was still smiling when they walked into the house a few minutes later. “Mother?” She called out. “I’ve brought Sebastian back.”

Leandra appeared at the entrance to the foyer, and Sebastian crossed the room to meet her. “These are for you,” he said, handing her the flowers with a flourish that quite frankly would have looked ridiculous had anyone else attempted it. “An apology for my earlier behavior.”

“Your Highness,” said Leandra. “There was no need.” She was all but fluttering around him. 

“Sebastian, please. And there was every need. I was inexcusably rude. I can only say that my concern for Anabel quite overcame my manners. I hope you can forgive me.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Leandra insisted. Anabel had to hide her smile. He was far too good at this.

Sebastian’s expression was penitent. “I feel partly responsible for what happened. Had I been there earlier perhaps I could have prevented Anabel from drinking so much.”

“Very few can keep my daughter from behaving recklessly.” Leandra said, giving Anabel a reproving look. “Maker knows I’ve never been able to. Perhaps you’ll be able to influence her.” 

“She’s just high spirited. It’s part of her charm.” Said Sebastian with an indulgent smile.

Anabel just rolled her eyes. “Could we stop talking about me as if I’m a racehorse or an untrained mabari?” She took the wine from Sebastian, and placed it on the sideboard. ”Sebastian’s staying for dinner.” She announced. She’d thought Leandra would be thrilled, but to her surprise her mother looked horrified.

“Could I speak with you a moment, Anabel. Please excuse us Sebastian.” She grabbed her daughter by the arm and dragged her into the library.“You can’t just bring home a prince for dinner without warning. I don’t have anything suitable to serve him.”

Anabel just shrugged, not understanding the problem. “So we’ll send Bodahn out for some takeaway.”

For a moment, Leandra was actually speechless. “You would do it wouldn’t you? Serve him fish and chips or some of that awful Rivaini stuff you’re so fond of.” She said, her horror plain.

Anabel couldn’t help grinning.

“Oh dear Maker, you’ve done it already, haven’t you? You’ve dragged him to that hole in the wall down at the Docks.” 

“I have. You should see how the man can pack away a vindaloo.” 

“I will not serve takeaway to a Vael of Starkhaven.” Leandra said firmly.

Anabel just shrugged. “So I’ll send a note to Philippe at The Golden Stag. I’m sure he’ll have something he can send round that won’t offend Sebastian’s delicate sensibilities.”

“An establishment like The Golden Stag isn’t going to send food over just because you ask.”

“They will if I offer to pay them double.” 

“Honestly, Anabel! Must you be so vulgar?” Leandra was quiet for a minute. “Do you really think they would?”

Anabel just smiled and walked back into the main room. “Bodahn!” She yelled, going to the desk and scribbling something on a piece of stationary. 

“You called Messere?” He said, appearing behind her.

She folded the note and sealed it. “Can you take this to Philippe at The Golden Stag? And if he agrees, then wait for whatever he puts together”

“Of course, Messere.” 

“Tell him there’ll be extra for him if he can get it back here in thirty minutes.” 

“Anabel!” Reprimanded Leandra, casting a worried glance at Sebastian.

Anabel just shrugged. “What? I’m hungry. I don’t feel like waiting”

Leandra shook her head as Bodahn left. “I’m so sorry Sebastian; I’ve tried to teach her. She’s impossible.”

“She’s a determined young woman.” 

“She’s stubborn.”

“She’s strong willed.”

“She’s also still standing right here.” Hawke pointed out. “And now she’s going to go change for dinner.” 

 

Leandra had escorted Sebastian to the library to wait, and then set the table herself so there would be no delay when Bodahn returned from The Golden Stag. Once that was done she hurried upstairs to change, but paused when she heard Anabel’s voice.

Was she talking to herself? The girl just got stranger and stranger. She edged closer to the door.

“I think the blue one is prettier.” 

She heard the dog bark, and Anabel reply. 

“It’s frillier. Doesn’t frillier mean prettier?” There was a pause. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. How does a dog even learn to be sarcastic anyway?”

She was asking the dog for clothing advice.

The dog. 

Leandra knew she didn’t have a good relationship with her daughter, but the fact that Anabel was asking the dog, rather than coming to her own mother, who was at least female and human, drove the fact home in a way none of their quarrels and disagreements had.

She heard Boy give a whine. 

“Yes, I know you like the red. I think it’s too simple. Sebastian said a pretty dress. I must have something that qualifies.”

She was dressing for the Prince. Anabel never dressed to please anyone but herself. 

“Oh, forget it. I don’t know what I’m doing. He’s probably forgotten about the whole pretty dress thing anyway after that fiasco last night. It won’t make a difference. I’m just putting on a clean shirt.” 

_Oh no she wasn’t_. Leandra knocked on the door, and without waiting for a reply walked in.

Anabel was standing in front of her wardrobe. It looked as if every dress she owned was out, draped over chairs and the bed, and hanging on the doors of the wardrobe.

“Good.” Said Leandra brusquely. “I was about to tell you to dress for dinner.” Her eyes went surreptitiously over the dresses as she spoke. 

As she expected, Anabel scowled, looking mutinous. “It’s just Sebastian. He’s used to seeing me in trousers.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t appreciate seeing you in something pretty.” Leandra said, choosing the word with care.

Anabel looked at her suspiciously but didn’t say anything, which Leandra took as a lack of opposition to her aid. She walked to the wardrobe and picked out one of the few dresses still hanging there. “This one.” She said, holding it up.

Anabel frowned at the choice. “It’s pink.” How did she even own a pink dress?

“Actually it’s blush.” Leandra corrected.

“It’ll clash with my hair.”

“Not this shade of pink.”

Anabel stared at it. It was soft, and simple, the body of the dress made of velvet, the sleeves of some sheer fabric that draped beautifully, straight to the elbow, gathered together with a delicate trim before flaring out almost to the floor. Perfectly delicate and feminine, and totally impractical, she thought, but it looked…pretty. 

Leandra saw her wavering. “Try it on at least.” 

Unable to think of a plausible argument against it, she slipped it on, and stood patiently while Leandra laced it up and took a step back to look at her.

Anabel watched her warily. “Well?” She asked, when Leandra didn’t say anything.

 _Seraphina_. Leandra thought. She hadn’t thought of her in years. Decades.

Anabel saw the look on her mother’s face. “It’s awful isn’t it? I don’t know how I even have a pink dress.”

Leandra cut her off. “No, it’s not that. You just remind of someone…something. Something I had forgotten about.” 

Anabel looked confused. “Of what?” 

Leandra didn’t answer, lost in the memory. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Great Aunt Zenobia had been watching them while Mother and Father had been on a trip to Orlais. Zenobia had taken them to a fair. Not a proper Hightown fair where only the nobles attended, but one down at the Docks, with wares that had come in on ships from all over Thedas. It was noisy and smelly and quite the most exciting thing that Leandra and Gamlen had ever seen. Zenobia had bought them all sorts of treats, strangely spiced meats grilled on skewers from a Rivaini vendor, spun sugar candies that melted in their mouths and made them all sticky. Gamlen was given a toy Qunari sword and small shield, and then at an Antivan stand, Leandra had seen her: the most beautiful doll she could have imagined. Her face and hands and feet were made of porcelain, and she had real hair, long and red and curly, and big aqua eyes and a red bow of a mouth. Zenobia took one look at her niece’s face and handed her the doll, bargaining with the vendor as Leandra ran her hands over the doll’s pink gown, and gently touched the silk flower pinned in her hair. She’d called her Seraphina, because it was the prettiest name she could think of.

They’d spent the whole day there and arrived home happy and dirty and tired, each of them clutching their new toys, only to find that Mother and Father had arrived back early. Her parents were absolutely horrified when they discovered that their children had spent the day at the Docks. Gamlen’s Qunari sword and shield were deemed inappropriate for a proper Andrastean family, and Seraphina… her mother had announced that Seraphina looked like a vulgar Orlesian courtesan. They were forced to surrender the toys on the spot. Leandra had protested, first crying and then having a full out tantrum, screaming and kicking and calling her parents names, which earned her her first and only beating – ten strokes with a willow switch. She’d cried herself to sleep that night, not because of the beating but because Seraphina had been taken away from her.

Her daughter looked like that doll. The same hair and eyes, and beautiful fair skin, even her mouth with that full upper lip, and the rich red color. She wondered what her mother would have thought of Anabel’s appearance.

“It’s not important.” She said finally, shaking her head. She began to pick up the clothes that were strewn everywhere.

Hawke watched her with a puzzled look, before turning to face the mirror. She had to admit Leandra had been right. The dress was pretty. Her hair looked a fright though, not surprising when she hadn’t even been able to tolerate the touch of a hairbrush this morning. She picked up her brush and quickly ran it through her tangled curls, before twisting it into a low chignon. She glanced in the mirror again. Not too bad. She noticed Leandra watching her, and turned around to face her. “Is it okay?”

Leandra’s face seemed somehow guarded. “Yes. Very presentable.”

It was high praise coming from her mother.

“But perhaps…”

And here it came, Anabel thought, bracing herself for the criticism. Leandra walked over to the pitcher where Anabel had placed Sebastian’s roses and pulled one free breaking it off at the stem, before carefully pinning it in Anabel’s hair, just on the side of the chignon, so you caught just a glimpse of it from the front. She smoothed back a curl that had already escaped. “There.” She said with a smile.

Anabel stared at her. Mother-daughter bonding. This was new. “Thank you.” She said, already feeling awkward.

“You’d best get downstairs. What my mother would say if she knew we’d left a Vael on his own, I can’t even imagine.”

“Have I ever mentioned that your mother sounds like a bit of a bitch?” 

Leandra opened her mouth to rebuke her and thought of Seraphina again. “She did have her moments.” She admitted. “Go on, don’t leave him waiting. I need to change as well.”

Anabel made her way downstairs, pausing in front of the door to the library, suddenly unaccountably nervous. _Don’t be an idiot. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in a dress._ Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed open the door.

Sebastian was sitting in the armchair by the fire, reading. He hadn’t heard the door open.

“So, I know the pretty dress was supposed to be for lunch today, but since I ruined that, I thought I’d attempt it for dinner.”

He looked up with a smile, ready to compliment her and found himself speechless.

She looked exquisite. Like one of those Orlesian figurines his mother used to collect. Too delicate and fragile to be real, though he knew how complete an illusion that was. He was almost afraid to touch her.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” She said with an apologetic smile. 

He put the book down and stood. “Turn for me.” 

Feeling more than a little foolish, she turned slowly in front of him.

“I’m overwhelmed.” He finally said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more lovely.”

She blushed, of course, her cheeks perfectly matching the pink of his rose. “Don’t be silly.” She muttered shyly.

He ignored the remark. “I’ve a favor to ask. Will you wear this dress to the de Montford’s ball next week? I’ll be the envy of every man there if you do.”

She couldn’t help looking pleased. “All right. Provided of course that I don’t spill something down the front of it, or trail the sleeves through the gravy tonight.” 

“There you are. Anabel haven’t you at least offered Sebastian refreshment?” Leandra stood at the doorway, looking elegant in a gown of deep aubergine. 

“I didn’t even think of it.” Said Hawke, turning to Sebastian. “Did you want something?”

“Honestly, Anabel.” Leandra turned to Sebastian. “I am sorry Sebastian. I promise you she has been taught how to be a proper hostess. She delights in pretending she’s still living on a farm in Fereldan.”

 

It was a recurring refrain as the evening progressed. Bodahn had arrived back from the Golden Stag with a veritable feast. They finished the first bottle of champagne, and opened the second. Sebastian kept the conversation going, talking with Leandra about various Free Marcher nobles, people and places that they both knew, telling all sorts of stories and anecdotes. When the meal was finished, Bodahn and Sandal cleared the table and Bodahn brought in an assortment of rich pastries that Philippe had provided.

“That was delicious.” Sebastian said. “How did you get The Golden Stag to agree to send food over?” He asked Anabel.

“I told the chef I had a prince to feed, and nothing in the house, and that my mother would disown me if I fed him takeaway.” 

Leandra looked horrified. “Please tell me that’s one of your ridiculous jokes.” 

Anabel just grinned at her. 

“You really are the most appalling girl.” Leandra commented, but for once she had a smile on her face when she said it.

Hawke couldn’t remember the last time Leandra had been this relaxed. It must be the wine she thought, taking a sip of her own and enjoying the tickle of the bubbles. It made you tipsy in quite a different way from usual swill she consumed.

Her mother had turned to Sebastian. “I don’t know why you keep coming back, Sebastian. She’s driven every other suitor away, some of them screaming.”

Anabel scowled at her. “Honestly Mother, now who’s being appalling? And the screaming was only that one time. Besides, Sebastian’s a priest, remember? I can be as appalling as I like with him.” As if determined to prove it, she reached over and scooped a fingerful of whipped cream off one of the remaining pastries and licked it off her finger.

“Must you be quite such a barbarian?” Said Leandra, quickly scooping the pastry up and depositing it on Anabel’s plate with a resigned shake of her head. “I wash my hands of you.” She turned to Sebastian who was smiling indulgently at Hawke. “You are a saint to put up with her. I wish you could have met Bethany, if only to prove that I am capable of raising a child with manners. She was a true beauty. Tall and dark haired and elegant. You wouldn't have been able to resist her. She was a true lady. And unlike her older sister she took her lessons seriously. She knew how to behave properly, and she was so talented in everything a proper young lady needed to know. She recited poetry and could embroider beautifully."

“And her fire spells were just lovely.” Muttered Anabel under her breath. She knew she was being catty, but the idea that Leandra would have been pushing Bethany at Sebastian rankled somehow.

“Anabel!” Leandra snapped.

“Mother!" She said back in the same tone of voice. "Do you really think I haven’t told Sebastian that Bethany was a mage?” In spite of her irritation with her mother, she was already regretting what she had said. She turned to Sebastian. “Mother’s right about Bethany. She was much nicer than I am. And much prettier. And she was better at almost everything. Mother makes her sound terribly uptight and proper but she wasn’t. She was so sweet. Everyone loved her.”

“Yes. They did.” Leandra said softly before looking appraisingly at her older daughter. “She wasn’t better at everything, you know. You were a better dancer.”

Anabel seemed stunned at the unexpected admission. “Really?”

“Yes. It came more naturally to you.”

“I’ve seen how quickly Anabel masters a new dance.” Said Sebastian with a perfectly straight face. “It’s quite impressive.”

She gave him an alarmed look, afraid for a minute that he was going to tell Leandra about the belly dance, but he gave her a teasing smile and actually winked at her.

She turned bright pink.

Leandra looked curiously at the two of them, before shaking her head. “I don’t think I want to know. You could have been better at most things if you had put any effort into it.” She informed her daughter before explaining to Sebastian. “She has a good mind, but she’s so stubborn. Only does what she wants, says what she wants. Doesn’t care a fig what anyone else thinks. I blame your father. Malcolm let you and Carver run wild.” 

“As opposed to you, who used to stop and give us etiquette lessons while we were on the run. There we’d be, camped out in the woods, and suddenly we’d be subjected to a dancing lesson, or quizzed on which fork to use for the fish course.”

Leandra gave Sebastian an uncertain look. “I can only imagine the stories Anabel’s told you. What must you think of us, living like that?”

He smiled reassuringly. “It must have been a very different life from your life growing up here, and quite difficult at times, but I have to admit, it sounded rather fun. An adventure, if you will.”

To Anabel’s surprise Leandra’s lips curved into a small smile. “An adventure. Malcolm used to call it that. Whenever things were at their worst. When we were hiding in a barn in the middle of a thunderstorm, freezing cold, and soaking wet, and this one was wailing, and we’d just left what little we had behind, again. He’d look over at me and grin and say ‘What an adventure Leandra! You’d never have gotten to do this if you’d stayed in Kirkwall.’ He was quite mad, I sometimes thought.” Her eyes drifted to Anabel. “You get that from him.”

Anabel couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

“Does Anabel resemble her father?” asked Sebastian, refilling Leandra’s glass as he spoke.

“Oh yes. In looks and character. Two peas in a pod.”

“He must have been quite different from the men you normally encountered.”

“He was.” Leandra agreed. 

“How did the heir to the Amells even meet a Fereldan apostate anyway?” Anabel asked.

“He wasn’t an apostate then.” Leandra explained. “He was a junior enchanter at the Gallows back when they would perform at the Viscount’s functions.”

“They used to have the mages perform at parties?” Things certainly had changed since then, she thought.

Leandra took a sip of her wine and nodded. “Oh yes. It was quite the rage at the time. I’d always thought mages were grim old men in strange robes, but Malcolm was nothing like that. He thought he was such a wit and he actually was quite charming. He never had a straight answer for anything though. He was fascinating. Infuriating. And impossible to forget.” She gave Sebastian a careful look. “You know what I mean, I think.”

His eyes went briefly to Anabel. “Yes.” He admitted, and Leandra nodded, giving him a smile that was almost sympathetic.

Anabel had completely missed the exchange. “So they had the mages at the parties like performing monkeys? Da must have hated that.”

“You know your father. He never considered himself anything less than the equal of anyone he met. He stood out. Or perhaps it was that he didn’t try to hide himself. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Or he at me. It’s strange how just one encounter can change your life completely. It wasn’t as if I was unhappy with my life here. I had my place in society. I was betrothed to an eminently suitable man. I was…content. And then I met Malcolm and suddenly nothing was as important as being with him. It didn’t matter what I had to give up.” 

“It must have been difficult to leave Kirkwall.” Sebastian commented.

Her expression clouded. “I didn’t have a choice. My parents made it clear there was no future for me with Malcolm in Kirkwall. And when they found out about...” Her eyes flashed briefly to Anabel. “They threw me out, without even a silver. And of course Malcolm couldn’t take anything from the Circle. There we were on the run with nothing at all. That was my life. That would be my life for the next twelve years, until we settled in Lothering.” 

“I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been with three small children so close in age. An afternoon at the Chantry orphanage leaves me completely exhausted.”

Anabel stared at him. He sounded so sincere. So sympathetic. He probably was. And Leandra was opening up to him, telling him things she never talked about. He must have been such trouble when he was younger.

“You have no idea. It might have been different if all of them had been as easy as Bethany, but with Carver and Anabel…exhausting doesn’t begin to cover it.“

“And it must have been more so when they were older. Children are usually upset by changes to their routine.”

“Anabel and Carver seemed to thrive on it.” Said Leandra wryly. “A new place to explore, new trouble to get into. It was Bethany who was most upset by the constant moving around, though she tried never to let it show. You would think she would have been unhappy after we found out she had magic, but when we scraped together enough to buy a little farm so we could stay in one place while Malcolm trained her, she was so happy. She loved having a home, a place that belonged to us."

Anabel had forgotten that. “She was happy, wasn’t she? She was perfectly content in our little cottage.” She smiled thinking of Bethany sitting on the bench by the door, with some piece of needlework in her hand, or making a pie in the kitchen. Always smiling. 

Leandra sighed. “She would have loved living here in Hightown. She would have loved the life I threw away. The parties, and the people. She would have fit right in. I wish my parents could have known her. But they died before the twins were born. Even so, I always imagined bringing Bethany back here. Introducing her to society. I had it all planned, and then…” Her voice trailed off. “It was such a shock when we found out she had magic.”

Leandra had never voiced that before.

“It must have been.” Said Sebastian in a soothing voice.

“It was so unexpected.” She looked over at Anabel. “We always thought it would be you.” She commented, almost idly. 

Anabel heart began to pound. “No one ever told me that.”

Leandra nodded. “Oh, yes. Your father was convinced of it when I was pregnant. Frantic about it, actually. He was so worried you’d be taken off to the Circle. He used to have the most awful nightmares about it.” She took a sip of her wine.

“But why?” Anabel burst out. Mother sounded so casual about it. How could no one have told her? Why hadn’t Da told her?

“I imagine any mage would be concerned that their child might have magic.” Said Sebastian.

Anabel opened her mouth to argue when she felt Sebastian’s foot pressing gently against her own. She looked over and he gave just the smallest shake of his head.

“That was part of it.” Agreed Leandra. “But he was worried about the whole pregnancy, much more so than when I was pregnant with the twins. Everyone always says twin pregnancies are more difficult, but that wasn’t the case at all.” She looked at Anabel and frowned. “I was so sick when I carried you.” She said, almost accusingly.

“I think that happens in a lot of pregnancies, especially early on.” She refused to apologize for things she’d done wrong in the womb.

Leandra looked irritated. “You always think you know everything, Anabel. I was actually fine in the beginning. It was only after your father got back, after we left Kirkwall that I was really ill.”

“Got back, from where?” She’d never heard that Da had left.

“Some mercenary job.” Leandra said, waving it aside as if it weren’t important. “He never told me the details. He kept it all to himself. Well, he wouldn’t be a Hawke if he didn’t try and solve every problem by himself. Just like you.”

“Was he gone for long?” Asked Sebastian.

“Almost two months.” Said Leandra with a sigh. “I’d begun to worry that he might not come back. But he did, finally, and he’d been paid enough that we were able to leave Kirkwall.”

Hawke couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “But why was he so convinced I had magic?”

Leandra gave a harsh laugh. “Pure ego, I’m sure. You were so much alike. Not just in looks, though Maker knows you look exactly like him.”

“But you said he was worried about it even before I was born.” Hawke said, frowning.

“It was ridiculous. He claimed that he could sense magic. That he could tell if people were mages.” She looked at Sebastian. “Not even the Templars can do that, right?”

“Today is the first time I’ve heard of such a talent.” Agreed Sebastian, giving Anabel a cautionary look. “And he thought the child you carried was a mage?”

“He said he’d felt it when he’d examined me. He was utterly convinced of it. He wanted me to prepare myself for it. As if you could prepare for the fact that someone could just tear your child away from you. I hated him for telling me that. Hated that he put me through that for nothing. You were just fine. No magic at all. It wasn’t even true.” 

“Da didn’t lie about his magic.” Said Anabel hotly. 

“Oh don’t look at me like that. Maybe lie is too strong a word. But he certainly got you wrong, didn’t he? I sometimes wonder if it wasn't worrying about it that made me feel so ill.” 

“It must have been a comfort having a healer there when you were so unwell.” Sebastian said in a soothing voice.

Leandra’s face softened at the memory. “Malcolm was so attentive. He made me all sorts of tonics and potions that I had to take every day, morning and evening.” She shuddered a little. “They were awful. Not like any healing potion I’d ever had. I thought they made me feel worse but he swore they were helping.” She looked over at Anabel, who was watching her, mesmerized. “You seemed to hate them as much as I did. You would kick like mad. Not just roll around a little, but kick so hard it actually hurt and then, after a little while, you’d go still, so still I’d be worried and I’d make your father check to make sure you were all right. Everyone always made being with child sound so wonderful, but I hated it. I was just miserable. I think Malcolm actually felt guilty that I was having such an awful time of it, as if it were somehow his fault. He was constantly apologizing, but he took such good care of me. When I was feeling worst, he would hold me and rest his hands on my belly and sing this strange little song. I don’t even know what language it was, but it always helped me drift off to sleep, and I always felt better when I woke up. I felt so lucky to be so cherished.” 

“It sounds as if he loved you very much.” Said Sebastian.

Leandra smiled and Sebastian caught a glimpse of the girl she had been when she ran off with Malcolm Hawke. “Yes. We loved each other. So very much.”

“What was the song he used to sing?” Asked Anabel abruptly.

Leandra looked confused and then irritated. “What was the song? Why on Thedas does that matter?” 

“I don’t know. I just wondered if he ever sang it to me. He used to sing all the time.”

“Yes, the two of you, going about like demented songbirds.” But she had that small nostalgic smile again. “Yes, he sang it to you. Maker, you were such a cranky baby. You had colic for what felt like months on end. I think we spent more money on ingredients for potions for you than food those first few months. Malcolm was the only one who could calm you down. He used to walk with you for hours at night, but he didn’t mind. He doted on you. His little Hawke. He was so scared you would be taken away. He could barely stand to let you out of his sight.” Her expression darkened suddenly. “All those years he watched and worried about you, and he never sensed anything from Bethany. If he’d been a little less focused on you maybe he would have noticed. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a shock. He could have started training her earlier. Then maybe she would have been able to protect herself when that ogre…” Her voice trailed off and her expression was bleak. “I’m sorry.” She said abruptly. “I’m suddenly very tired. Please excuse me, Sebastian. I know I’m being very rude.” 

“Mother…” said Anabel, wanting to comfort her but not having the slightest idea as to how to do that.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Anabel.” Leandra’s voice was harsh with barely repressed emotion, her face twisted with grief. “I can’t do this now, remembering how much I’ve lost. I don’t know what to regret first. That life… Every day I have less of it. Know less of it. Those days. All of us together in that simple place…” Her voice trailed off and she stood there, unmoving for a moment, and then it was as if she’d put a mask on her face. She turned to Sebastian with a gracious smile. “Thank you for the flowers and the wine, Sebastian. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Lady Amell.” He said, standing and giving her a small bow.

Leandra left the room without another word. 

Sebastian turned to Anabel. She had a stunned look on her face.

“I’m more confused than before.” She said. “You were right. He knew.”

“Yes.” There was no doubt about that now. But just what had he known?

“He did something. A spell. He changed me.”

It was a logical conclusion from the information Leandra had given them, with one fact against it. “There’s no magic that can do that.” He reminded her. "Perhaps your mother is right. Perhaps he was mistaken."

She shook her head in denial. “I know what it feels like to sense a mage. There's no mistaking it. And you're wrong, there is a spell that can change a mage. The rite of tranquility." 

“That’s entirely different.” Sebastian protested.

“Well it’s certainly less subtle than whatever he did.” Anabel said dryly. Her eyes went to the door Leandra had just exited. “Poor Mother. Dragged away from her comfortable life here in Hightown, for love of a man who pays more attention to their child. No wonder she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Anabel.” 

“I know. It’s far more complicated than that. I think it was easier when I just thought she was a bitch.” She gave him a wan smile. “Thank you for being here. I would have made a mess of it on my own and we would just have ended up fighting the way we always do.”

“Will you be all right?” He asked, his concern evident. She’d been through so much today.

“Yes. It’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be fine. I should try and get some rest. I’ve got to head out to the mines in the morning. Will I see you for Wicked Grace tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Come. Walk me to the door.” He offered his arm to her and they walked to the door in silence. Bodahn appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and handed Sebastian his cloak, and then disappeared again. 

They stood there facing each other. “I couldn’t have dealt with everything that happened today without you beside me. I don’t know how to begin to thank you for that.” She said finally. 

“I’ll always be there when you need me, Ana. Always.” He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “Good night.”

“Good Night.” She closed the door behind him, and leaned against it for a moment before pushing off it and striding determinedly towards her room. She managed to loosen the strings of her dress enough to wriggle out of it, and leaving it where it fell, yanked on some leathers, and grabbed her daggers before heading towards the basement door.

She needed to talk to Anders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted a photo of Anabel's Rose on my Tumblr here: 
> 
> [Anabel's Rose](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/image/58823060890).
> 
> The dress reference, as well as other style inspiirations are here: 
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	18. A Danger to Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke discusses all she's learned with Anders. Justice has some comments of his own.

Anders sat in his empty clinic, hard at work on his Manifesto, the only light coming from a single candle in a sconce in front of him. He was so absorbed in his work that at first he didn’t hear the knocking on the clinic door. When he finally did hear it his first inclination was to ignore it. It seemed like weeks since he’d had the clinic to himself. But even as he thought that, he was pushing to his feet to see who it was. Someone obviously had need of his aid if they were here at this time of night.

He moved towards the door, frowning as he felt Justice’s growing agitation. 

_What is outside the door is a danger to us._

Anders hesitated, wondering if it were thieves, which were easily handled, or the Templars, who could prove to be more difficult. There was the unmistakable thud of someone hitting the door and then another series of louder knocks followed by a familiar voice. “Anders, I know you’re in there. Don’t make me pick the lock again. You know I will.”

A pleased smile came to his face. It’s just Hawke, Justice, he reassured the spirit.

 _She is a danger,_ Justice insisted, though not as vehemently as before. It was an echo he had been repeating since…Maker, was it really more than three years since they first met Hawke? Justice’s concerns made no more sense to Anders now than they had that day. He ignored the spirit’s unease and opened the door. 

Hawke looked up at him. “Well, you took your sweet time.” She said in an irritated voice. His concern that she was wandering through the Undercity alone at night warred with his pleasure at seeing her. She was armed at least, he noted, and wearing an old pair of dark blue leathers, and had a rather incongruous pink rose tucked in her bright curls. She stepped calmly over the unconscious body lying on the ground in front of her and into the clinic. 

Anders looked down at the man, who had to be almost a foot taller than Hawke, and outweigh her by at least one hundred pounds. “Friend of yours?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

“He expressed an interest in starting a relationship, yes.” She said, not sparing a glance at the body in question. “Don’t you dare heal him.” She commanded, as Anders bent to check on him. “He’ll be fine. He’ll have a headache, and won’t be pleasing the ladies for a few days, but I suspect that wasn’t a concern of his to begin with.” 

“You shouldn’t come down here alone, especially not this late.” He said, wondering why he even bothered saying it yet again. 

As he had expected, she ignored his words, walking further into the room. “Andraste’s ass, it’s dark in here. How do you even see? Are you trying for a Deep Roads vibe or did you just run out of candles again? Do you need more? I wish you would just tell me what you need, instead of making me guess. It would make things so much easier.”

“Did you just pop down to take a quick inventory? That couldn’t have waited until morning?” He teased. He couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her. It felt as if he’d been seeing her less and less frequently. He wasn’t certain which of them was to blame. She spent an increasing amount of time socializing in Hightown and he more time with the Underground and on his Manifesto. Yes, they saw each other at The Hanged Man, or when she had a job she needed his help with, but time alone with each other, in the clinic, or at her house was becoming a rarer occurrence.

“I needed to talk to you.” She said absently, crossing to his desk.

“Nice dancing exhibition last night, by the way.” He said with a smirk of a smile.

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t stop the blush that stained her cheeks. She couldn’t quite decide if she did or didn’t want to remember more details of the evening. “Thank you.” She said in as blasé a tone as she could manage. 

“I fully expected you’d be by earlier, pathetically begging for healing. I can only imagine what your head must have felt like this morning.” His warm eyes were teasing.

He seemed remarkably chipper. It seemed like ages since she’d seen that little smile, the one that lit up his eyes, and gave her a glimpse of what he might have been like before Justice. She couldn’t help smiling back at him, in spite of his teasing. “Yes, you would have enjoyed that, wouldn’t you? Well, as it turns out, I have much nicer friends than you, and one of them took pity on me and brought me a healing potion. I didn’t even get a lecture, so there.” She pushed his papers to one side of the desk and climbed up, sitting cross legged.

“And which of our weak willed companions caved?” He asked, suspecting Varric’s conscience might have gotten the better of him. 

“Sebastian.” She said, entirely unaware of the way her face lit up when she spoke his name.

Marvelous. He thought with a scowl. “I should think a priest would know better than to encourage that sort of behavior.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, don’t pout. Leandra yelled and lectured for a good twenty minutes before he came to my rescue, so there was at least a modicum of suffering involved.” Her dimple danced at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, as long as you suffered.” He said, feigning a lightness he wasn’t feeling. Bloody Sebastian Vael, always coming to the rescue. Did the man never step a foot wrong? “What’s with the flower?” he asked gesturing at it.

Her hand groped at her hair, and she pulled it out looking at it with surprise. “I forgot about that. It was Leandra’s idea.” She said a little sheepishly. Maker’s Ass. She was running around the Undercity with flowers in her hair.

Anders noticed her unease and hastened to reassure her. “It looked pretty, just a little odd with the armor. Were you at a party tonight?”

“No, Sebastian stayed for dinner.” She lifted the rose to smell it.

Leandra was dressing her up for Sebastian. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. What mother wouldn’t want a prince for her daughter? His scowl deepened. “So you said you needed to talk.”

“Yes.” She hesitated, a bewildered look coming over her face. “It’s been a day of interesting revelations. I need your opinion on some things.” She picked up one of the papers beside her and skimmed it briefly. “Is this new?” She asked. Her face grew serious as she started to read it.

He took it from her and stacked it with the rest of the papers. “Yes and no. I’ve been editing. Adding some things. I’ll bring you a copy when I’ve finished. Stop avoiding what you came down here to tell me.” He sat down in the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Talk.” He ordered.

She chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide where to start. “Well, I told Sebastian about what happened in the Deep Roads and … everything.”

Anders wasn’t entirely surprised. It was obvious that she’d disliked keeping it from him. “And what did the wonder-priest have to say?” 

She ignored the jibe at Sebastian. “It didn’t seem to bother him at all.” She said, still surprised by that. Her fingers caressed the flower in her hands. “He said that whatever it was, I had turned it into a gift because I used it to help people. I’d never quite thought of it like that.” She said. A small smile curved her lips.

Anders managed a noncommittal noise, cursing internally. Bloody priest. Always the perfect response. 

“He thinks it sounds like what the Templars do.” She added.

“We’ve thought that for a while.” He commented.

“Yes, but it was interesting to hear it from someone with no connection to mages. He also thought that Da might have had the same talent, that I might have inherited it from him. Does magic work like that? I wasn’t certain.” She asked giving him a curious look.

He considered it. “I suppose it might, given how other traits are inherited. I couldn’t say for certain. You’re the first person I ever met who knew their mage parent.”

A shadow passed over her face. She knew what happened to children born to mages in the Circle. No wonder her father had been so afraid of having a mage child. “Were you ever there when it happened? When a mage had her child taken away from her?” she asked quietly.

His face closed off. “Yes.” He tried to shut out the memories. Some would just weep, some would rage and scream. The worst though were those who went silent, turning away from everyone, shutting themselves off from the pain. They were the ones who let despair overwhelm them. They were the ones who needed to be watched most closely. He’d learned that lesson early in his training. He changed the subject. “Why did Vael think your father could sense magic?”

“Sebastian thought Da knew I had magical abilities. He thought that maybe it wasn’t Bethany he was trying to hide all those years we were on the run, that it was me.” She watched to see his reaction to the idea.

Anders stared at her. It seemed obvious, suddenly. How had they never considered that? 

She nodded in satisfaction. “I know. It makes sense, doesn’t it?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “And instead just talking in circles about it the way you and I always do, Sebastian had the clever idea of just going and asking Leandra about it. I honestly didn’t think it would work, I mean she never talks about Da or our life in Fereldan, but you should have seen him. He completely charmed her. Brought her wine and flowers, and spent the evening buttering her up, but in such a subtle way she didn’t even realize it. And it worked! Suddenly she’s chattering away, telling him all about Da, about how they met, and life on the run, things I’d never heard before. He could out-smooth Varric even.” She shook her head, but had an admiring look on her face. “He must have been such a troublemaker before he joined the Chantry. I never quite believed it before, but I can see it now.”

Anders had seen it the first time he met the man, and again last night when he had seen the possessive glint in the man’s eyes when he’d thrown Hawke over his shoulder and taken her from the Hanged Man. He fought to keep his expression neutral. “So what world-shaking revelations did he uncover?"

“Da didn’t just suspect I was a mage, he was absolutely convinced I was. Go on. Ask me why.” She ordered. 

“Why?”

“According to Leandra he claimed he could sense when someone was a mage.” She said triumphantly. “Sebastian was right.”

Of course he was. But his irritation with the priest was overshadowed by what Hawke had just revealed. “Your father claimed he could sense mages even before their magic even manifested?”

She seemed vaguely offended that he would doubt it. “It’s not such an outrageous idea. If he and I could sense mages when they aren’t casting, why not a child whose magic hasn’t shown yet? You’re not alone in your skepticism, though. Leandra didn’t believe he could do it either.”

“Because you never showed any signs of magic.” He finished.

She nodded. “And because Bethany did, and Da had never sensed it in her.” 

Anders thought about it. By all accounts Bethany’s magic had come as a complete surprise to the whole family. “How old was Bethany when her magic manifested?”

“Eleven.” 

Nothing unusual in that. Most magic showed between six and twelve. “And how old were you when he suspected you were a mage, did your mother say?”

She leaned forward excitedly, her elbows on her knees. “See, that’s where it gets truly interesting. He told her I was a mage when she was pregnant with me. I wasn’t even born yet.” She waited for his reaction.

“That’s impossible.” He said automatically. But maybe it wasn’t. He could sense if a child was healthy, had even been able to heal a child while it was still in its mother’s womb. If he could use his healing magic on the unborn, why wouldn’t Hawke’s father have been able to use his abilities? 

“But that’s not even the strangest part of the story.” Hawke said, and she quickly recounted the rest of what Leandra had said, about being so ill while she was pregnant, about being given potions and about the little song in the strange language that Malcolm had always sung to her. 

Anders listened without commenting, and Justice grew more and more agitated until he had to rub his head in an attempt to still the spirit.

Hawke paused. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah. Justice is getting riled up for some reason.”

 _She is a danger to us and to all mages._ Justice repeated, yet again.

“What do you think so far?” She asked. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

He shook his head. “It’s strange, Hawke. Very strange. Healers don’t like to give potions to pregnant women. You try and avoid it if at all possible, because you can't be sure of how it might affect the child. Whatever these potions were they obviously affected you and your mother. Why would he risk it?” 

She nodded eagerly. “I know, but that’s not everything. According to Leandra, I was the most difficult child the fade spirits ever bestowed on two parents. I had to be constantly doused with expensive potions for months after I was born. And Da would stay up with me all night long, would scarcely let me out of his sight. He spent hours holding me, walking with me, and singing me the same strange little song he sang to Leandra when she was pregnant.” She watched him carefully for a reaction.

He stared at her, realizing the implications of what she was saying. “You think it wasn’t a song at all. That it was a spell.”

“Don’t you?” She said with surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.” The wonder was that Leandra had never realized it. “But a spell for what?” he said, more to himself than to her. 

Maker, he wished Justice would calm down.

“I think he found a spell to keep me from being a mage.” She sounded utterly convinced of it.

Anders first reaction was to laugh. “Hawke there’s no such spell.” He insisted.

_She is a danger._

Was there?

She was frowning at him, obviously disappointed by his response. “That’s what Sebastian said. I thought you’d be more open to the idea. Why couldn’t there be? It obvious he did something that cut me off from whatever magic I had.” She insisted. “And it’s not like that’s unheard of. Isn’t that exactly what the rite of tranquility does?”

He gave her a withering look. “The fact that you’re standing in front of me with a will of your own, vehemently arguing your point tells me otherwise.” He pointed out.

Where would Malcolm Hawke even have found such a spell?

She brushed that aside. “So the rite of tranquility is an amputation. What if he found a spell that was more, well, surgical, for want of a better term?”

“There’s no such spell. Arguing won’t change that.” Anders repeated, but his voice had less conviction. 

What if it were possible? What if parents were given a choice? What parent would willingly bring a mage in this world? 

_There would be no mages. She is a danger to all of us._

Hawke was still talking, refusing to let it drop. “I’m not arguing! I’m clearly and reasonably stating the facts. We know he thought I was a mage. We know he came back from that mercenary job and started giving Leandra potions that she and I reacted violently to, and that he kept giving them to us, in complete violation of what he’d learned as a healer. We know he would put his hands on her stomach and sing a strange little song in a language Leandra didn’t recognize. We know that when I was born I was given potions that I reacted violently to and he would hold me close and sing a strange little song. We know he watched me all the time, kept me disguised, kept me hidden. We know that in spite of all of this, when I was exposed to the red lyrium, which we know from you exacerbates magic talents, it affected me. I began to be able to sense magic and mages, a magical talent that Da claimed to possess.” She gave him an earnest look. “If you heard this about someone else. If you read it somewhere, objectively, what would be your conclusion?”

He tilted his head back, staring at the crumbling ceiling above him. He couldn’t ignore it. Dammit. He straightened up and looked at her. “That he used some sort of spell to try to stop your magic somehow.” He admitted. She gave him a triumphant look before he added. “But that he wasn’t certain he had.” 

She frowned. “Why do you say that?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “If he’d been convinced of it he wouldn’t have watched you so closely, and wouldn’t have felt the need to hide you. Perhaps he wasn’t completely successful. Perhaps he could still feel a trace of it.” 

_She is a danger to all mages_ , Justice insisted.

Shut up. She is a mage. His mind was reeling. Hawke was a mage. Had been a mage. Was now a mage again?

 _She is not what we are_ , Justice denied, vehemently.

Then what is she? He asked the spirit. What did her father do to her?

Justice was abruptly silent.

Anders gave Hawke a speculative look. What had Malcolm Hawke sensed in her? “Have you ever sensed that an infant or a young child is a mage? Or that a pregnant woman is carrying a mage?” he asked her. 

She shook her head. “No, but it never even occurred to me to attempt it. And I doubt I’d be able to. I’ve probably only got a shadow of Da’s ability anyway.” She sighed heavily. “I wish we knew more about it. You really never heard of anyone having this ability before?”

“No.” Anders considered what he did know. From what he’d learned of the man through Hawke’s many stories and anecdotes, Malcolm Hawke had been a powerful mage. Powerful enough to sense magic in an unborn, barely formed fetus, though? It seemed highly unlikely. 

Unless…

Anders stared at her. 

Unless the fetus itself had been equally powerful. So powerful that Malcolm had been able to sense it, even at that young age. So powerful that a father had been driven to attempt the impossible to protect her. To keep her from the Circle and the Templars.

He looked at the girl in front of him, so bright, so full of life. He tried to imagine what she would be like if she had been taken to the Circle when she was a child.

Would she have been cowed by being ripped from her family? Would she have become one of those silent fearful children, cringing from anyone in a Templar’s uniform, taught to loathe their own abilities, believing themselves cursed and forsaken by the Maker? 

Or would she have been the opposite. Would she have managed to keep that spark of hers, in spite of being locked away? That seemed more likely. He could just imagine how her inability to keep her mouth shut would have gotten her into trouble. Her attitude combined with her abilities and her striking appearance would have attracted the worst of the Templars, would have given them the only excuse they needed to try and crush her spirit when she was younger, and to use her body for their own base pleasures when she was older. 

Malcolm had been at Kinloch Hold and the Gallows. Like Anders, he would have known all too well what it was to be a powerful mage in the Circle. They both knew what kind of unwanted attention it called down on you. He realized Hawke was speaking to him.

“Have you noticed a change in your magic since we saw Bartrand?” She had a worried frown on her face.

He hesitated for a second too long before replying. “No.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his temples again. “Yes. Dammit, yes, I’m lying. I feel like an addict who’s gotten a hit after being clean for years but with none of the negative side effects. I didn’t want to worry you.”

She gave him a reproving look. “You shouldn’t lie to me about things like that. If something is going to happen, it’d be nice to have at least some warning.”

“I’m sorry. Have you felt anything?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No. but I’m not really sure what I should be looking for if it’s the same ability, and if it’s something new, it hasn’t shown itself.” There was a small crinkle between her brows, and he had a sudden urge to fold her in his arms and kiss it away, to promise her that no matter what happened, he would keep her safe. 

She looked up and saw his worried expression, and gave him a reassuring smile. “Thank you for listening. It helped being able to talk about all this with someone who knows about magic. Who understands what it's like.” 

She unfolded her legs, and slipped off the desk, and leaning forward, she slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. She looked at him, and her eyes softened, her concern for him plain. She reached up a hand and gently stroked the side of his face. “You look worn out. One of these days I’m going to kidnap you and lock you away, and pamper you until you’re plump and rested. Then you'll be able to take on the world.” She promised. She began to move away and unable to stop himself, he reached out and caught her around the waist and pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her, wanting, needing, to prolong her touch for just a little while. He let his head rest against her. He was so much taller than she that his head came to rest on her chest, just below her chin. He must have startled her, because she was stiff in his arms at first, but then she relaxed, and rested her cheek on the top of his head, reaching up with one hand to lightly stroke his hair. 

“It’ll be okay.” He heard her say in a soothing voice. 

After all she’d been through, all she'd discovered today, she was comforting him. He let her go and looked at her with a rueful smile. “Aren’t I supposed to be reassuring you?” 

Her eyes were warm. “We can take turns I think.” She leaned forward and rested her forehead briefly against his. “I’ve missed you. I feel like I don’t see you anymore.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He pulled back and looked at her carefully. “How are you really feeling about all of this?” He asked her.

She didn’t quite meet his eye. “I’m fine.” She said, turning away.

He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face so she had no choice but to look at him. “Now who’s lying?” He chided gently.

Her eyes were suddenly bright with unshed tears. “I’m angry with him. With Da.” She began to pace. “Isn’t that stupid? He did it to keep me safe, but I’m angry. I feel like he took away who I was. Who I could have been. And I keep thinking it must mean that his time in the Circle was worse than he ever let on. That they must have done things to him. Horrible things. Why else would he be so willing to risk both the woman he loved and his unborn child with a spell that he wasn’t certain even worked?” She was growing more agitated as she went on. “Leandra said he used to apologize to her when she was really ill. She thought it was just a helpless male reaction. She didn’t realize that he was causing it. That he knew he was hurting us.” She turned to look at him. “Would you do it? If you were in my father’s position, if you could prevent your child from being a mage, would you? Could you make that choice? Would you?” Her hands were clenched into fists at her side.

He watched her, unable to counter any of her statements. “If you had asked me that this morning I would have said no, never. But now? I imagine you in the circle. I think of how they would crush your spirit. Of what trouble your smartass comments would get you into. Of what they would do to you….” His voice trailed off, and he looked at her and nodded slowly. “Yes. I’d consider it.”

Her blue green eyes looked haunted. “I think that it was my fault that he didn’t know about Bethany. I think he felt her magic and just assumed it was me.” 

“You don’t know that.” He said.

“Leandra blames me. She said if Da hadn’t been so focused on my being a mage he could have trained Bethany better and she could have fought that ogre.”

Andraste’s Ass, Leandra. The woman was truly unaware of the hurt she so casually caused her daughter. “You know that even if she had been trained it’s unlikely she would have defeated an ogre by herself.”

She seemed to accept it, or at least she didn’t argue any further. “Did you have any idea that I was using Fenris’ markings when we fought together?” She asked suddenly.

He’d been wondering when that might occur to her. “I suspected it.”

She looked annoyed. “How is it everyone else figured this out and it came as a complete surprise to me?”

He gave a small snort. “Just be glad Fenris hasn’t realized it.” He said with a smirk, which disappeared almost immediately at the expression on her face. “Maker’s tits, Hawke. You didn’t. You told him?” No sense of self-preservation at all.

She looked surprised that he would even ask. “Of course I told him once Sebastian pointed it out.”

Of course. Brother Goody Two Shoes would have encouraged that. He couldn’t prevent a frustrated groan. “I’m assuming since you’re not here asking me to put your heart back in your chest that he was okay with it?”

She seemed uncertain. “I’m not sure I’d go that far, but he’s still coming out to the mine with us tomorrow. He’s angry though. If you could try not to bait him, the trip will be … well I don’t think we’ll manage pleasant, but we’ll at least get through it without violence.” She sighed. “I should get back home and try and get some sleep. Come up early tomorrow and have breakfast with me before we go?” She invited.

He smiled at the thought. “I’d like that.”

He walked her to the door and watched as she disappeared into the hidden entrance to her basement, before walking back into his clinic. He could get in another couple of hours of work on the Manifesto and then still manage a few hours of sleep before heading up to Hawke’s. As he pulled out the chair and sat down, catching a flash of pink out of the corner of his eye. He bent down, picking up the rose she'd worn in her hair. She must have dropped it. He had to give Leandra credit; the soft pink and peach of the flower mirrored the tone of Hawke's skin almost perfectly. He lifted it and inhaled the sweet scent, before tucking it into the pages of his copy of _The Sermons of Justinia I_. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.


	19. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone meets up at Hawke's before heading out to the mines. Anders and Sebastian are surprised to find themselves agreeing on something.

In Anabel’s opinion, one of the best things about being rich was having huge cup of hot coffee waiting for you first thing in the morning. 

The big mansion in the nice neighborhood that didn’t smell like cabbage and old socks was nice and all, and having someone else to do the housework and laundry and all the rest of the chores that she’d always hated was enjoyable as well.

But really it was the coffee that did it for her, she thought, inhaling deeply as she walked into the kitchen early the next morning, her boots and jacket tucked under one arm, Boy at her side. 

The Mabari barked when he saw Sandal and trotted over to his friend. 

Sandal smiled as he rubbed Boy’s ears. “I like the doggie.” 

“He likes you too.” Commented Hawke, gratefully accepting a cup from Bodahn. She took a sip. Perfect. Steaming hot. Just the right amount of cream and sugar. “Bless you, Bodahn. I don’t know how I survived before you and Sandal got here.”

“Making sure you have your coffee in the morning is the least I can do, after you saved my boy. And I’ve some blueberry scones in the oven.”

Her eyes lit up. “Perfect. Anders is coming by for breakfast; I meant to leave you a note.”

“Master Anders is already here, Messere. He arrived just after daybreak. I made him some tea, and he’s waiting for you in the garden. You go on out, and I’ll bring your food when it’s ready.”

She walked past Sandal and Boy, who were rolling around and the floor together, and went through the open garden door. Anders was seated at the wrought iron table. She crossed quickly to him.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night, or did you just write all the way through ‘til dawn?” She asked as she tossed her boots and jacket on one chair, put down her coffee on the table, and leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the forehead before throwing herself into a chair opposite him.

He gave her a smile. “I managed a couple of hours.” He pushed some papers towards her. “Here. You don’t have to read it now, but I’d appreciate it if you let me know what you think.”

“I want to read it. Let me get a little more coffee in me first.” She took another swallow and leaned back, holding her face up to the sunshine. “I thought it was going to be cool again today, but now I’m not sure. Autumn in Kirkwall is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” She asked idly. 

“It just feels good to be outdoors and away from the stench of Darktown.” And to be with her. She still had that slightly sleepy look, sitting there with her bare feet, her hair in a thick braid over her shoulder, and her white linen shirt still half untucked. She had a blissful expression on her face as she sipped her coffee. He’d never known anyone who took quite so much pleasure from such little things. “I like the fountain.” He commented.

She looked surprised. “Have you really not been here since it was put in?” She said with a small frown. 

“We’ve both been preoccupied.”

“Apparently.” She wondered what he was doing with the Underground that was keeping him so busy. “I don’t suppose you’d share details?” She asked, trying to maintain a disinterested tone. She looked up from her coffee to see him watching her.

“I might actually. I could us your help with something.” He said carefully. 

She couldn’t keep the delighted surprise from her face. “Really?” She asked. 

“Maybe.” He corrected. “Read the Manifesto first.” There was an added danger for her now. She was a mage herself. Or had been. Or was again. He still couldn’t quite fathom it, but more than before, she should know what was happening to mages in the Gallows.

She quickly put down her coffee and picked up the papers and began to read, her face growing serious. She didn’t even glance up as Bodahn and Sandal brought out the warm scones as well as more coffee and tea. Boy came out with them and stretched out on the ground in front of her. She reached out blindly groping at the plate, until she grasped one of the scones, and without looking, took a bite of it, chewing while she rubbed Boy's belly with one foot. He rolled on to his back to give her easier access. 

“The part about Tevinter is good – reminding people that Andraste’s reaction to mages probably had a lot to do with the fact that she was enslaved by them.” She brushed away some crumbs that had fallen on the paper.

“I debated about including that.” He said as he buttered his own scone. “It might send the wrong message. Some people dislike it if you imply that Andraste was fallible.”

“She was human. She was bound to be fallible.” Hawke said absently as she took another bite of her scone and continue her reading. She leaned back in her chair and put her bare feet up on the table, just by his plate. 

Anders gave her an exasperated look. “Do you mind Hawke? I’m eating here.“

“Hmmm?” She looked up in surprise. “Oh. Sorry.” She moved her feet so they were resting on his lap instead, and went back to the Manifesto.

He shook his head, but couldn’t help smiling, as he moved her feet so they were resting more comfortably on his thighs. He let one hand rest on her lower leg, and took a sip of his tea, letting himself enjoy the peace of the garden. He wondered what it would be like to live like this, with no worries about money or Templars. What it would be like to start every day like this, with her. 

“I like this line: ‘the oppression of mages stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker’. Da always used to say that ‘magic exists to serve man and not rule over him’ just meant that mages shouldn’t dominate non mages with their magic.”

“Unfortunately, most don’t see it that way.” Anders commented. “They swallow whatever superstitions and nonsense the local chantry mother throws at them.”

“And the Imperial Chantry somehow interprets it to mean mages should be in charge of everyone else.” She wondered how they argued that particular point. She looked at him curiously. “Have you ever wanted to run to Tevinter? They've dissolved all the Circles. Mages are just the same as everyone else. Better, in fact.”

Anders choked as a piece of scone went down the wrong way. “No. Maker, no. In the Circle they make it sound like the Void itself.”

She gave him a saucy grin. “The Black Divine, stalking Thedas, making it unsafe for kittens and virgins everywhere?”

He couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of any horrific kitten rituals.”

She grinned back at him. “I notice you don’t mention the virgins. I suppose it's a good thing I’m here, and not in Minrathous.” She teased, before her face grew serious again. “They’ve done the opposite of what the Chantry in Orlais has done, putting mages above all the rest. I don’t think either of them has it right, though I am curious as to how Tevinter got there.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I wonder if I could get a hold of any Imperial Chantry writings to look at.”

“No.” He said firmly.

She blinked at the vehemence. “But…”

“No.” 

She scowled at him. “I’m not planning on converting, or anything. I was just curious.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘curiosity killed the cat’?” He asked archly.

She just grinned again. “It always comes back to cats with you, doesn’t it?” 

Boy gave a sudden bark and got to his feet, running to the kitchen entrance. She looked to see what had caught his attention, and her smile broadened.

Before Anders realized what she was doing, she’d pulled her feet out of his lap and jumped out of her chair, practically running past him. He turned his head to see Fenris and Sebastian standing by the kitchen door. Wonderful. His two favorite people. Sebastian was scratching Boy behind the ears, and the dog was practically prostrating himself in front of the man. Bloody dog. Why couldn't Carver have left a cat behind instead, he thought, turning back to his scone with a scowl. He picked up his Manifesto and tucked it back into his coat before the others saw it.

“I thought I was meeting you at your house.” Anabel said to Fenris before turning to Sebastian. “And I didn’t expect to see you at all.” She was unable to keep herself from putting her hand lightly on his arm. 

He looked at her carefully. Considering everything they’d learned yesterday she looked remarkably well. “It’s a good thing we came by instead. You don’t even seem quite dressed yet.” He teased. 

She looked like a little girl standing there in her bare feet, with her shirt only half tucked in. Like a little girl who'd escaped her nurse before she finished dressing her. He couldn’t help smiling at her, though his heart was still twisting oddly at having walked in on that strangely intimate scene: Anabel and Anders breakfasting together, her feet in his lap, his hand resting on her leg, laughing easily together. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. They were just friends. Close friends. His heart twisted again.

“Are you coming along with us?” She asked, tucking in her shirt. She was unable to keep the pleasure from her voice at the thought of it. 

“If that’s all right with you.” She seemed pleased to see him at least.

“Of course it is. Have you eaten yet? We’ve got blueberry scones, and there's coffee and tea.” She said, turning to include Fenris in the offer.

“We have already eaten.” Said Fenris, curtly. 

“Oh.” She said, taken aback at his tone, though of course she couldn’t blame him. “Thank you again for agreeing to come along. I…”

He cut her off. “I had said that I would.” He turned away from her to look out at the garden, which meant that he was looking at the abomination. He scowled. Another mage. He’d come all the way from Tevinter only to find himself tied to a mage. A mage who had kept what she was from him. “I will wait outside.” He said abruptly, and stalked off.

Anabel looked after him, a worried frown creasing her brow. Sebastian moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and she leaned back against him.

“He’s here, Anabel. If he truly couldn’t forgive you he wouldn’t be.”

“Yes.” She said trying to let herself be reassured by that small gesture. “How did you end up coming along?” She asked, turning her head to look up at him.

“Fenris was waiting by the Chantry when I got back last night. We spoke.” He said simply. He’d learned things about Fenris’ life with Danarius that he would never tell her, even had he not been bound by the rules of the confessional. The things Fenris had suffered…if ever there was a mage who deserved every punishment the Maker could give, it was Danarius. 

She was looking up at him with a worried frown, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “He asked if I would come along. As a buffer of sorts.”

She nodded, understanding it, but hating that Fenris thought he needed it. She resolved to give him no reason to regret coming along. She had no intention of using her ability on him today. She and Carver had managed to fight as a team for years without any sort of magical link. Surely she could manage the same with Fenris. “Come on.” She said, taking him by the hand. “Have a scone while I get myself together.”

He let himself be pulled to the table and nodded his head at Anders, as she flung herself into a chair, grabbing a boot and shoving her foot into it.

“Anders.”

“Sebastian.” Anders replied, giving him an identical nod in return.

Hawke rolled her eyes as she reached for her other boot. They were always so carefully civil to each other, as if she couldn't tell how much they disliked each other. “I was thinking of trying to get a hold of some Imperial Chantry writings, but Anders has forbidden it.”

They both looked at her with equally horrified expressions.

“Why in the Maker’s name would you want to do that?” Sebastian managed to get out.

She just shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Have you never heard the expression ‘curiosity killed the cat’?” He asked, his exasperation plain.

“I have, just recently, in fact.” She said with merry eyes, as she glanced briefly at Anders. “But I find it strange that neither of you knows the next line.”

They both looked blankly at her.

She didn’t say anything more, just stood and pulled on her jacket. She reached over and grabbed another scone and took a bite before looking at the two men in front of her.

Anders folded his arms across his chest. “You’re going to make us ask, aren’t you?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

She grinned mischievously, but didn’t speak.

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “Very well, Anabel. What’s the next line?”

She looked remarkably pleased with herself as she quoted. “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

Anders snorted. “You just made that up.”

“Not a bit.” She insisted. “Da used to say it all the time. Usually when Leandra had trotted out the first part after Carver and I had gotten into something we shouldn’t have.”

Anders scowled. “I sometimes find myself wishing your father hadn’t given you quite so much freedom.”

She made a face at him.

For once Sebastian found himself in complete agreement with the man. Reading the teachings of the Black Divines. Just out of curiosity. He barely managed to suppress a shudder at the thought. “There are some things that are best just left alone, Anabel.” He said firmly.

Anders shook his head. “That’s entirely the wrong thing to say. You put it that way and she’ll be sending messengers to Minrathous book sellers before the day is out.” 

“Well, look at that.” Anabel said with a little smirk on her face that showed her dimple. Two sets of eyes watched as it briefly flashed and then disappeared. “The two of you, openly agreeing on something. I knew it would happen, one day. You had to have something in common. I’m going to ignore the fact that what you agree on is how just how badly behaved and in need of discipline I am.” 

Sebastian exchanged a look with Anders. Brief, but mutual understanding passed between them. It wasn’t that they had in common. It was the fact that, against their will, both of them were in love with this bright, beautiful and utterly irrepressible girl, and both of them would do anything to keep her from harm.

Sebastian managed to keep his face neutral, but Anders couldn’t help scowling. 

“Come on.” He said heading towards the door. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back from that place.” He was starting to rethink telling Hawke about Alrik, starting to rethink telling her anything about his work with the Mage Underground. He’d been right before. She had too many ties to the nobility and the Chantry. It wouldn’t be safe. For either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short transitional chapter this time. The next one will be longer and much more plot relevant.


	20. The Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the Bone Pit takes an unexpected detour.

It only took going from Hightown to Lowtown for Hawke to realize there was no way they would make it to the Bone Pit without someone being maimed. Fenris was barely speaking to anyone, Anders had been reduced to sarcastic remarks. Sebastian was trying, but she suspected simply keeping Fenris from walking away from the group was going to take all his attention. She was trying to keep things light, but frankly she was already beginning to feel like a fool. They needed someone else with them. Someone who wouldn’t be offended by everything. Someone easygoing. Someone she could joke with.

They needed Varric.

She didn’t bother to tell the others, just walked straight up the stairs from the Lowtown market and in to the Hanged Man.

“Why are we stopping here?” Asked Anders, scowling. Still. Or again. She wasn’t quite sure which, nor was she sure why he was suddenly in such a shitty mood.

She turned to him with innocent eyes. “We’re picking up Varric. Didn’t I say?”

“No.” He said shortly.

“Oh. Must have slipped my mind. I’ll just run up and get him.”

She practically fled up the stairs. Varric was at his table, papers from the Merchant’s Guild spread out in front of him. He glanced up as she burst into the room.

She sagged with relief at the sight of him. “Oh thank the Maker, or the Ancestors, or whomever’s responsible for your being here right now.” 

He just raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice to see you too, Hawke.” 

“You’ve got to come to the Bone Pit with me.”

He gave a snort. “Yeah, I don’t think so. The last time we were there I got a dousing of spider guts. It took three baths just to get the smell off. Do you know how much I had to tip Norah for enough hot water for that?” 

“Look, I’ve got a broody mage, a broodier elf, and a priest downstairs right now. The mage and the elf can only snarl at each other. The elf is furious with me because I failed to tell him about that special talent I picked up in the Deep Roads. The priest is spending most of his time trying to keep the elf from walking away permanently, and the other part shooting disapproving looks at the mage. The Mage is just scowling at everyone, including me, and I’m not even sure why. He was fine at breakfast and suddenly went all surly after Fenris and Sebastian got there. I’m babbling like an idiot trying to maintain even the semblance of normalcy. I just did a five minute bit about why the Wounded Coast is called the Wounded Coast.”

Varric couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sorry I missed it. When did you tell Broody about your little gift?”

“Yesterday. Turns out I’ve been using his markings when we fight. A fact everyone seems to have been aware of but me.” She said, looking over at him. “Did you know?”

He shook his head. “No. But dwarves don’t do magic. It’s not our thing. I always wondered how you didn't bang into each other more often.” 

“He’s furious with me. Sebastian knows too. He seems to be okay with it.”

Of course he is, thought Varric. He had trouble imagining anything that Choir Boy wouldn’t overlook where Hawke was concerned. And Ancestors know he had tried to come up with something,something that would make the man just snap and finally jump her. He’d had such high hopes for their romance, and six months after the prince had joined their little gang…nothing. He was getting as frustrated as Choir Boy and Hawke must be. He’d thought maybe after the other night, when, as Isabela had put it, ‘the horny was rolling off him in waves’, that he’d finally have something to work with, and then Aveline told him that she’d run into them in Hightown and all that was happening was Hawke puking her guts out practically on the man’s shoes, while he piously held back her hair for her. 

He’d never been so disappointed in his life. It was kind of sweet, he had to admit, but that didn’t sell stories.

Hawke took his lack of response as a refusal. “I’ll let you write about it.” She offered desperately.” I don’t even care at this point. I just want everyone to come through this without their eyebrows singed off by a fireball, or a missing limb.” 

“Well, how could I pass up that?” He asked getting to his feet and reaching for Bianca.

Things lightened up considerably once Varric was with them. He kept Anders distracted, Sebastian focused on Fenris, and Hawke flitted between the two groups, more than happy no one was killing each other.

They had barely cleared the outer edge of the city when Hawke spotted something.

“Hold up a minute.” She ordered. “There’s someone up ahead.” She looked carefully. There were about a dozen, give or take. From this distance she couldn’t tell what they were: Bandits, slavers, mercenaries. She could excuse the last, as long as they didn’t start anything. The first two were another story. 

Sebastian came up behind her. “Trouble?” He asked her.

She was frowning. “Not sure. I need to get closer. Wait here.” And before he could stop her she’d left the road and slipped silently into the trees and brush that bordered it.

And now he was frowning.

It seemed forever until she reappeared. “Slavers.” She announced grimly. 

Fenris’ markings actually flared. “You are certain.” They were the first words he had spoken directly to her since they’d left her house.

“Oh yes. The words “Undercity”, “pretty ones”, and “the boss said he’ll put us on the auction block if we don’t bring back some prime goods this time” were overheard.”

“Then we end them.” Snarled Fenris.

“We do.” She agreed and he almost let himself smile at her, before he seemed to remember his anger, and scowled instead.

“How many are there?” asked Sebastian.

“I counted fourteen.” She grabbed a stick and drew a rough outline of their camp in the sand at their feet. “They seem to be resting up for their trip into Darktown tonight.”

“How do you want to handle it?” Asked Varric. 

She pointed with the stick. “There’s an outcropping of rocks here that overlooks their camp. You and Sebastian can get a vantage there. I’ll distract them, and then, Anders, you can come in from here.” She indicated, “And Fenris, if you can get around them, here, and then come into the camp from this direction.” She drew another line, showing him. She looked up at them expectantly. 

“Sound like a plan.” Said Varric. “Come on, Choir Boy.” 

Sebastian left with him and together they climbed the back side of the outcropping. He glanced back to see Anabel standing alone. She was unbraiding her hair. Why on Thedas …. He stopped and watched, even more perplexed as she unfastened her jacket and loosened the laces on her shirt and then actually reached into her shirt and adjusted her breasts so more cleavage showed.

“Coming, Choir Boy?” Asked Varric. He followed the Prince’s gaze and gave a small smile as he realized what had distracted the man.

Sebastian turned to face him. “What is she doing?”

From the alarm in his voice Varric suspected Sebastian already knew but he answered anyway. “She’s getting ready to distract them.”

Sebastian just stared at him.

“She’s the bait, Choir Boy. What did you think she meant when she said she’d distract them?”

 

The slaver threw another rock at the fallen tree in front of him. Andraste’s tits, he hated waiting around. “Why the fuck can’t we go into the city now? Why’ve we gotta wait until dark?” he asked his companion.

“The boss don’t want us noticed, Sim. We’re lucky he’s even letting us make this run.” Nico didn’t even lift the cap that he’d put over his face to keep the light out. If Sim stopped complaining, maybe he could get some sleep before tonight.

Sim gave a disgusted snort. “Not like we’re gonna find anything worth much coin in the Undercity anyway. Bunch of starving dog lords is all that’s down there.”

“Better than coming back empty handed, ain’t it?”

“I miss how it used to be.“

His companion grunted.

“Remember right after the Blight, Nico? You could go all over the city. No one’d stop you. Even Hightown. Those were the days. We got some prime goods back then. Practically walked right up to you.”

Nico gave up trying to sleep and slid his leather cap back. “Yeah. That don’t happen anymore.” Nico sighed, looking down the road towards Kirkwall. “I fucking hate Darktown. It smells horrible.”

Sim gave a snort of laughter. “Ain’t you the dainty one?” 

Nico was squinting down the road and didn’t answer. He pushed himself to his feet, frowning. “What the Void…”

Sim turned his head to look. 

There was a girl walking towards them. Waving at them. With a big smile on her face.

He exchanged a look with Nico, and they both smiled. “What was that you were saying about them just walking up to us?” Nico asked. They both turned to get a better look at her.

She was young. Pretty. A redhead. Oh yeah, Sim thought, you could get good money for a redhead up north. And what a redhead. Her hair was unbound, and it was thick and curly and fell almost to her waist, covering her whole back. She came nearer and he realized she wasn’t just pretty, she was fucking gorgeous. 

Things were definitely looking up. 

Big blue eyes. Or green maybe. He couldn’t tell this far away. 

She waved again, a little more uncertainly this time, and he lifted a hand and waved back. _Come on girl. Just keep on coming this way_.

She gave a relieved smile, and increased her pace until she was standing right in front of them. His eyes went quickly over her. Maker’s balls, they would make a bloody fortune. He’d never seen skin like that, and her mouth… Oh he was gonna put that mouth to good use on the trip back. She was little, yeah, but that was good. Made a man feel more manly. The ties of her shirt were loose, and as little as she was he had a perfect view of her tits. Nice. Real nice. Some men liked them bigger, true, but the serious buyers, the real connoisseurs went for shape and proportion, that’s what the boss always said anyway, and she had that in spades. 

“Oh thank the Maker,” She was saying, in a breathless, slightly husky voice. “I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone else on this forsaken road.” 

Look at those eyes. Fuck. Look at them. Blue and green both, and fringed with heavy dark lashes. He exchanged another delighted grin with Nico. They were going to be fucking rich.

“Please. You have to help me.” She said pleading, and she actually put a hand lightly on his chest. 

“Of course, sweetheart. You just tell Sim what the problem is.” He saw some of the other men stirring, coming towards them, having noticed the bounty that had just wandered into their camp.

She was talking again. “I thought it would be fun to get out of the city. Have an adventure, you know? Mother never lets me do anything like that. Just lessons and stupid needlework and being cooped up in the house all day. I just wanted to have some fun.” 

What a voice she had, smooth and rich and low. Oh they’d show her some fun. The boss was gonna be ecstatic. He upped the price he thought she’d bring, and upped the bonus he’d get for bringing her in.

“Of course you did.” He said soothingly.

“And then the stupid cart lost its stupid wheel, and when I got the stupid donkey loose he just ran off.” Her voice was petulant, and she seemed completely unaware or unconcerned about the rest of the men moving towards them and slowly encircling her. 

But was she really on her own? “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” He commented.

She smiled at him. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. But look – I borrowed Jonathon’s armor -– he’s my little brother -- and it fits perfectly, don’t you think?” She said holding out her arms and giving a little twirl to show them. 

It did, Sim thought looking at the way it hugged her ass. “It’s real nice, sweetheart. But you ain’t got no weapon.”

She frowned, a little wrinkle appearing between her brow. “Weapon?” She repeated. All right, maybe she wasn’t too bright. It didn’t really matter when she looked like that. 

“A sword, or a dagger.” One of the others moved directly behind her. She was closed in now.

Her face lit up. “I do! I have a dagger!” She said enthusiastically. 

He feigned surprise. “Really?” 

She nodded eagerly and lifted one leg to reach down into her boot. “Oh, phooey. It’s slipped down.” She gave the prettiest little pout, as she slipped her hand further into her boot she tottered a little and grabbed his arm for support, before reaching in and pulling something out. “See?” She said, holding it up, a triumphant expression on her face.

It was one of those pretty bejeweled things the nobles wore for show. Little more than a glorified letter opener.

She looked surprised when he took it from her hands, and they all started laughing. “I don’t understand.” She said, looking around at them.

“That’s not a dagger sweetheart.” He said tossing it to the ground. He pulled out his own to show her. “That’s a dagger.”

She looked at it carefully. “Oh. Oh, my. I understand now. When you said dagger, you meant something like this.” Fast as lightning, she’d bent at the waist, flipped her hair forward and pulled two lethal looking weapons off her back. Before his brain had quite processed it, one dagger was at his throat, and the other poking intimidatingly at his groin. What the fuck? She’d hidden them underneath all that hair. He swallowed hard, staring at her in a combination of wonder and horror. For a moment no one moved, just as shocked by what had happened as he was.

She had a small catlike smile on her face, that didn’t reach her eyes, and made him wonder how he could ever have thought her harmless. “But you know what else I’ve got, _sweetheart_?” She purred as she prodded his throat suddenly, the movement enough to stop the men behind her from grabbing her.

“What?” he managed to squeak out.

She gave him a grimly satisfied smile and stepped back suddenly. “Friends.” She said simply.

There was a sudden flare of light, and a blinding pain in his chest and he looked down in surprise at the gauntleted fist that was sticking through it. It yanked back, and he felt a crushing pressure and then nothing.

Nico watched stupidly as Sim fell to the ground, lifeless, and then arrows and bolts were flying everywhere and the men scattered. Someone went shooting past him, airborne, a ball of earth and rock having appeared out of nowhere and hit him dead center. 

The girl had stabbed behind her with both daggers at once, and didn’t even look to see who she’d killed before she turned and spun and slit the throat of the slaver coming up on her side. She turned to Nico, her face decorated with a fresh spray of blood.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nico asked still unable to fathom the change from bubble headed girl to ruthless killer.

Hawke didn’t have a chance to answer before Fenris’ sword separated his head from his neck. 

She blinked. She hadn’t even realized he was nearby. She hadn’t sensed him at all. Yes, she’d been trying not to, but it had worked far more successfully than she’d thought it would. It was as if she’d shut him out completely. Maybe that was the increase in power she’d gained from the other night at Bartrand’s. Maybe it had given her enough control that she could shut the ability off. 

Fenris was staring at her, an odd expression on his face.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Thanks. I never know what to answer when they ask me that.”

Fenris almost smiled back, before the scowl returned and then he suddenly shouted, “Left!” and she dropped and rolled, as he swung his sword again, and took out another slaver. She came to her feet and looked around. Sebastian and Varric were firing steadily, slowly moving closer as the slavers’ numbers dwindled. Anders was off to the side firing spells in rapid succession at a group who were trying desperately to hide themselves behind rocks and trees. Another group was moving up behind him that he seemed completely unaware of. 

She went running to his aid, flipping over the slavers and landing in a crouch at Anders back. She spun towards them using a combination of roundhouse kicks, and fierce slashes, killing one of them, and driving the others further away from him.

One of the slavers suddenly rushed at her with an outraged roar and she quickly flipped backwards to avoid his lunge. She spun and brought both daggers down. He managed to dodge one, though the other caught him, slicing open his arm, but it didn’t stop him. 

Crap, she thought and flipped backwards again hoping she had room for it. She landed badly, almost falling on her ass, and then she looked up and had a brief second of sheer terror as she saw Fenris’ sword coming sweeping down in an arc directly at her head. She hadn’t felt him, hadn’t realized he was there in back of her and she’d somehow managed to land directly between him and his target. She caught a glimpse of his horrified face as she frantically threw herself backwards, hoping desperately that he’d have time and strength enough to pull back his swing and then two things happened almost simultaneously: a burning slash of incredible pain across her torso and a sickening thud as her head smashed into a rock, and then everything went dark. 

 

“You know it wasn’t intentional, Blondie.” Varric’s voice sounded far away.

“I know if she wasn’t as fast as she is he would have sliced her in half.” Someone was wiping her face with a wet cloth.

“But she is that fast. She dodged it. She’ll be fine. You said so yourself.” Was it her imagination or did Varric sound a little shaky?

“And why did she have to dodge it in the first place? Because she wasn’t using her Maker given abilities to sense where the fuck he was! Because it might have fucking hurt the bastard’s feelings.” Anders was shouting now. 

“Maker, you’re loud.” She mumbled, opening her eyes.

Anders had been glaring at Varric, but his eyes came immediately back to her when she spoke, and relief flooded through them before he scowled at her. “If you’re going to keep fighting with him, use your abilities, otherwise, learn to fight without him.”

“Not unless he says it’s all right.” She insisted stubbornly, trying to push herself upright. Anders was there immediately, on his knees beside her, slipping an arm around her to help her up.

She looked down at her now blood soaked shirt. He’d torn it open, to heal her no doubt. “How bad?” She asked.

“He could have cut you in half.” 

“He obviously didn’t, so how bad was it?” She asked again.

“Shallow. He hit muscle, not organs.”

She moved her shirt out of the way, and looked. Her skin was smooth, just a faint pinkish mark left where his sword had hit which she knew would fade quickly. She blanched a bit when she saw the length of it. She shifted so she could sit without his support. “Did I actually crack my head open this time?” She asked wryly.

“No. Just managed to knock yourself unconscious. Congratulations.” He said sarcastically. 

She glared at him. “What are you so pissy about? I’m the one who got hurt.”

“Maybe I’m getting tired of having to put you back together.” He said, throwing the cloth he’d been holding to the ground. 

She just raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d be more than happy to let someone else take a turn.” She said. “Why is that anyway? How come I’m always the only one who needs to be put back together after a fight?” She asked petulantly.

 _Because you go running in without a thought for your own safety. Because you think all of us are worth more than you. Because you think you’re indestructible._ Anders sank to the ground next to her. He thought he’d lost her. He thought the elf had killed her. He didn’t say it out loud.

Varric, who had been quiet up to this point, spoke up. “Actually you’re not this time. Fenris took a dagger to the side.”

Her eyes went to Anders. “Is he all right?”

“I don’t particularly care. If he isn’t, he can take a fucking potion.” With that, he pushed himself to his feet and walked away.

Anabel stared after him, astonished. She’d never known Anders to refuse to heal anyone. She turned back to Varric. “What exactly happened while I was out?”

Varric sat down next to her. “Oh a lot of men shouting your name and running to your side. Panic, accusations, threats. A lot of yelling. It was dramatic to say the least. I only wish I’d been able to take notes.” He didn’t mention that he been calling her name as well. 

She grinned at him. “You mean you didn’t?”

“Didn’t have a chance. Too busy trying to keep Blondie and Broody from killing each other.” 

“Andraste’s sweet ass.” She muttered, pushing herself to her feet. “Where’s Fenris?”

Varric gestured towards the road. “Just around the bend. Sebastian is with him.” 

”Right.” She tied the front of her shirt in a knot. It looked ridiculous, but at least she was covered. “Go talk to Anders. Tell him if he doesn’t heal Fenris I’m going to pull all the feathers off his coat.”

Varric gave a snort of laughter as she grabbed one of the potions Anders had left lying there, and walked away.

She stalked around the bend in the road, slowing when she saw that Fenris was actually sitting on the ground leaning against a small boulder, Sebastian crouched by his side. She increased her pace. Fenris never rested after a battle. He really was badly hurt. 

“Let me get a healing potion at least.” Sebastian was saying. 

“No,” Fenris said, stubbornly. His face had an unhealthy gray cast to it. “Not until we know that she is healed.“

“She’s healed. Drink a fucking potion.” Hawke knelt down beside him, uncorked the potion, and handed it to him.

Fenris took it but didn’t drink it, just stared at her. If his face had been a mask since she’d told him about her abilities, it was gone now. The emotions were practically pouring out of him: guilt, worry, pain – the last not just physical, but emotional as well.

“Hawke...” He started to say.

“Drink.“ She ordered. “Pretend it’s Aggregio. That doesn’t mean you should throw it at something though.” She added with a smile.

He lifted the potion and drank it. She watched his face carefully. Some of the tension went out of him, and some of the color came back. “Better?” She asked.

“Yes.” 

“Good.” She looked over at Sebastian, giving him a warm smile. “Could you give us a few minutes?” 

“Of course.” He got to his feet and left them.

She moved next to him, leaning against the boulder the way he was. “So. That went appallingly badly.” She said after a moment, her voice casual.

Fenris tensed beside her. “Must everything be a joke with you? I nearly killed you.” He snarled.

She seemed unconcerned by his anger. “Oh please. If I hadn’t jumped under your sword you would have missed me completely.”

He stared at her open mouthed. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_.” He muttered.

“What was that?” She asked, though after three years she knew full well what it meant.

“You will be the death of me!” he shouted.

“I think that’s my line today.”

Fenris seemed to crumple at her words. He bent forward and put his head in his hands.

She scooted closer to him and after a second’s hesitation put her hand gently on his arm. “It was an accident. It’s all right Fenris.”

He looked up at her, his green eyes filled with pain. “It would never have happened had I let you use your abilities.”

“I don’t need to.” She insisted. “Carver and I fought for years without using any magic. There’s no reason you and I can’t do the same. We’ll just need to practice more.”

He said something, his voice so quiet that she didn’t hear it.

“I’m sorry?” 

“I said I knew you were doing it.” He practically shouted at her.

She didn’t understand. “You knew?”

“When we fought. I knew you were using my markings. I felt it. What you have been doing all these years. It was subtle. So subtle that I could dismiss it. Pretend the pull wasn’t there. But part of me knew it. It let me know when you were near. It helped us fight together. When you came and told me of your abilities yesterday, I realized…. I thought. I felt.” His voice trailed off.

And suddenly she understood. “You thought you had willingly let yourself be used by a mage.”

“Again. Yes. And then you nearly died at my hand because you refused to use me. You have never done anything to harm me, have never treated me as anything less than a friend, no matter how badly I treat you, no matter how rude and unpleasant I am.” 

“Well, I did grow up with Carver.” She teased.

“Hawke.” he pleaded. “I almost killed you because I was too stubborn to admit that I had known for years what you confessed to me the moment you realized it.”

“You mean as soon as Sebastian pointed it out to me. At least you realized it. I was completely oblivious.” They sat in silence for a moment, and then she turned and looked at him. “Did Sebastian tell you what we found out from Leandra yesterday?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

He hesitated before nodding. “That your father thought you were a mage. And that you think he found a way to change that.”

“Have you ever heard of something like that? In Tevinter, I mean.”

“No. But I was hardly privy to the secrets of the magisters.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Secrets?”

“Such a spell – the ability to prevent a mage from being born. In Tevinter magical abilities are prized. Fought over. Marriages are arranged to combine the most powerful bloodlines. Magisters have killed to prevent certain bloodlines mixing. To have the ability to weaken the bloodline instead. To make it irrelevant. This is a secret they would never reveal to anyone not a magister.”

Maker, Tevinter sounded like a horrible place.

“But…” said Fenris. He didn’t finish the sentence.

“But?” she asked.

“It sounds like something they would do. Could do. But I can only imagine what such a spell might involve.” 

She shivered a little at the thought. He was the first person who hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand, and certainly he knew more of forbidden magics than any of them. _Oh Da_. She thought. _What did you do?_

Fenris was watching her warily.

She leaned her head back against the boulder. “Well, the way I see it we have two options.” She said eventually. “We learn to fight without using my ability. Or, we continue as we have been for the past three years. The choice is yours.”

He blinked at her. “Why is it mine?”

“Because it wasn’t before.” She said simply. “I only care that we continue fighting together on whatever terms.”

His choice. She didn’t know what a gift that was to him. He looked at her. Her face was open. There was no guile, no hidden agenda. She was smiling at him. Perhaps she did know. “We have fought well together as we were.” He said carefully.

“We have. Amazingly well.”

“We may be able to improve now that we are both aware of this…gift.”

A dazzling smile came to her face. She knew what it cost Fenris to call any magic a gift. “Do you think so?”

“I do.” He couldn’t help smiling back. It quickly faded when he spotted the abomination stalking towards him, Varric at his side.

Hawke looked over to see what had made him scowl again. “Let him heal you, Fenris.”

The potion had stopped the bleeding, but the slaver’s dagger had pierced his leather armor just above his hip, going straight through and out the other side. It still throbbed with pain. “Very well.” He agreed, reluctantly.

She gave his arm a squeeze and stood. She walked towards Anders and Varric, meeting them a few feet from where Fenris sat. 

“Thank you.” She said to Anders.

“How do you know I’ve agreed to anything?” He asked, still scowling.

Maker he was cranky today. She smiled and smoothed his pauldrons. “Because I know how attached you are to these feathers.” She went up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And thank you for healing me too.” She added.

He tried not to smile back, and failed utterly. “It’s become part of my routine. That should worry you, by the way.” 

“I try not to worry. I hear it causes wrinkles.” She turned to Varric. “Try and keep them from killing each other.”

“You know I love a challenge.” Varric said.

She laughed, and walked past them around the bend of the road. 

Sebastian was saying prayers over the bodies of the slavers. She’d been taken aback the first time he’d done that after a battle, but she couldn’t help admiring the action.

He looked up as she came to his side.

“I’m not interrupting?” She asked softly.

“No. Maker bless their stupid, stupid souls.” For the first time he hadn’t wanted to pray over those he’d killed. He’d just wanted them dead. He walked away from the corpses, trying to control his emotions.

Anabel followed him, worried at his odd behavior. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“No.” He said abruptly. 

Was he upset about the men they’d killed, she wondered. “They were slavers Sebastian. I can’t even imagine how many lives they’ve destroyed…“ She began to say.

He whirled around and pulled her roughly into his arms, crushing her against him, and suddenly his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, frantically, desperately, and then his mouth moved, pressing anxious kisses on her eyelids and her cheeks, returning to press one last firm kiss to her mouth before he gathered him close to her and held her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“I thought I’d lost you.” He muttered into her hair.

“I’m fine.” She soothed. She pulled back and put her hand lightly on his cheek stroking gently. “I’m fine.” She repeated her eyes warm as she looked at him.

He caught her hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “When I saw you walk up to them like that…What in Andraste’s name were you thinking?”

She blinked at him. “I was the bait.” She said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea of what they’d planned for you?”

“Of course I do. That’s why we were stopping them. I was the best distraction. It let the rest of you move into position.”

She seemed genuinely perplexed by his reaction. The slavers had needed to be killed, and she did what needed to be done to achieve that. She’d handled them brilliantly, he was forced to admit. They’d never even suspected her. He had taken such satisfaction in killing those men, still felt it now, just because they had dared to even think of touching her. And then when she’d fallen…he didn’t even remember how he’d gotten to her side. When he’d seen Fenris’ sword come down on her, when he’d seen the blood, he’d thought…

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, keeping his arms around her. “Your shenanigans are rapidly aging me, Anabel Hawke.”

“Hmmm. And you were pretty old to begin with.” She nestled in closer to him, nuzzling her head under his chin, letting herself enjoy the feeling of being in his arms.

“Brat.” He rested his head on hers and smiled, not even opening his eyes. Only the sounds of Anders and Fenris arguing, their voices growing louder as they came closer made him release her and step back, though he didn’t release her hand. He didn’t care if the others saw.

As the trio walked towards them, past the corpses, Fenris suddenly stopped and knelt down, looking more closely. He cursed fiercely.

Anabel pulled free of Sebastian’s hand and went quickly towards him. “What is it?”

He straightened up with a snarl. “Hunters.” He said pointing to the emblem on the man’s belt.

The same emblem she’d seen the night they met. Anabel looked grim and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything an authoratative voice rang out from the outcropping above them.

“Stop right there. You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave and you will be spared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah -- hiding her daggers under her hair. It wouldn't work with the DAII daggers, which, proportionally are really the size of small swords, but after some research I found that most daggers apparently have blades of 7-12 inches. If you figure that Anabel's are custom made, they would probably be on the smaller side, and thus could be concealed against her back. As for whether or not the handles would be visible, I figure if DAII can have weapons invisibly suspended on a characters back, I can suspend them low enough that the handles wouldn't have been seen above her shoulders.
> 
> A big thank you to Sarah for the loan of the phrase "the horny rolled of him in waves"!


	21. Arcebatur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the holding caves has surprises for both Fenris and Hawke.
> 
> Long chapter is long....

A voice came from the outcropping above them. “Stop right there. You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave and you will be spared.”

Hawke bristled with outrage. “Fenris is a free man!” She yelled. 

The slaver gave her a contemptuous look. “I won’t repeat myself. Back away from the slave, now!”

Fenris’ markings flared white. “I am not a slave!” He bellowed, and the battle was on. The sheer number of guards and slavers proving just how determined Danarius was to get Fenris back.

The group proved no match for them however. Perhaps they’d been counting on the aid of the men who had been slain earlier, but they were soon defeated. Hawke yanked her daggers from the back of one of the mages, and turned to see Fenris stalking over to where another mage lay, groaning. He yanked the man’s head back by his hair. The mage was young and clearly terrified, his plump cheeks wobbling as he shook with fear. 

“Where is he?” Fenris snarled, smashing the mage’s head on the ground before he even had a chance to answer.

“Please. Don’t kill me.” The mage pleaded.

“Tell me!” Fenris demanded, and slammed his head down again.

“I don’t know.” He insisted. “I don’t know, I swear! Hadriana brought us here. She’s at the holding caves, north of the city. I can show you.” He offered eagerly. 

“No need...” Fenris’ voice was cold. “I know which ones you speak of.”

Hawke could see the hope leak out of the man’s eyes even as he pleaded. “Then let me go, I beg you…” 

Before she could think about stopping him Fenris had reached out with both hands and snapped his neck. “You chose your side.” He said grimly. 

Anabel heard Sebastian murmur a prayer behind her. She moved quickly to Fenris’ side.

“Hadriana.” Fenris’ voice dripped with hatred.

“This is someone you know?” She asked.

“My old master’s old apprentice.” He spat the words out. “I remember her well. A sniveling social climber who would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. I knew he wouldn’t let this go! If she’s here, it’s at his bidding.” 

He’d let himself hope that after all these years Denarius had given up. Now Hadriana was here, and who knew how many she’d brought with her. He turned to Hawke to ask, to demand, to plead that she go with him, that she help him end this threat. 

She’d put her hands on her hips. “Then what the Void are we standing around here for?” She demanded.

 

The party was uncharacteristically quiet as they headed to the caves north of the city. Fenris and Sebastian were up ahead, followed by Varric. Hawke could hear only snatches of their conversation.

“We spoke of her only last night and now she is here. As if she was summoned.” Fenris snarled. “I was a fool to think I was free. They’ll never let me be.”

She couldn’t hear Sebastian’s reply, only the soothing tone of his voice.

Anders appeared at her side, and she gave him a quick smile. “Hey, I think I figured out what I got out of our little visit to Bartrand.” She informed him. “I seem to be able to block out magic now. That’s what went so wrong before.”

“With Fenris you mean?” He frowned. “You can block it out completely?”

“Not sure. But I couldn’t even tell Fenris was there. That turned out to be a bad thing, of course. But it might have its uses.” 

Anders frowned as he considered what she’d said. Was it that she was blocking her awareness of the magic, or was she blocking the magic itself? 

She was watching his face. “Raises some interesting possibilities, no?” 

“It does.” He admitted. “We’ll have to try some things. See what we can find out. Later, not now.” He clarified. “I don’t want you playing with it while you’re so set on going to the holding caves.” 

“Makes sense.” She agreed. She looked ahead at Fenris again and that worried frown reappeared.

“I suppose telling you that you should give yourself some recovery time before you go charging out to fight magisters and slavers would be pointless?” Anders asked idly.

She flashed him a grin. “Ah, you know me too well.” Truthfully, she wouldn’t have minded waiting a day, but she was afraid Fenris would set out on his own, or this Hadriana person would send someone into Kirkwall to find him. It couldn’t wait. She wasn’t going to lose Fenris. 

Anders was watching her carefully. “Will you at least give me an honest response if I ask you if you’re having any pain?” There was stiffness in the way she was moving that he would have ignored if it was anyone else.

She looked at him in surprise. How did he always know? “It’s not pain, exactly.” She said reluctantly.

“Not pain exactly.” He repeated. After all these years you would think he would be used to having to pry information out of her. “But something.”

“Yeah.” She admitted with a small sigh.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate?”

“I was a little sore, the way you are right after you’ve been healed, but then after we fought just now, it’s sort of… I don’t know. A little tender, maybe?”

Unhelpful as always. He frowned. “Tender all along where the sword hit, or just in one spot?” 

She thought about it. “Which is worse?” She asked.

He just looked at her. As if he would answer that question before she’d told him which it was.

She sighed. “One spot. Here.” She said touching her side. No, not touching it. Hovering above it. That alone told him it was more than a little, and more than tender.

“Maker’s Balls, Hawke.” He stepped in front of her and began unfastening her leather jerkin.

She slapped his hands away irritably. “Could you at least ask before you start undressing me in public?” 

He stood back while she finished unfastening the buckles, and watched as she tried to undo the knot she’d used to tie the torn pieces of her shirt back together. The fabric had been wet with blood when she’d tied it, and she’d pulled the knot too tightly; she couldn’t get it undone. 

“Crap.” She muttered as she struggled with it for a moment, before she gave up. “Just cut it.” She said in a resigned voice, slipping the jacket off and letting it drop to the ground. 

“You’re sure?”

She shrugged. “Cut it, tear it. Whatever. The shirt’s a dead loss anyway. I can wear the jacket without it.” 

He took out his knife and did as she’d asked. He didn’t even have to ask where exactly the pain was, he could see the bruising right away. She was bleeding again, just under the skin.

She looked down, and gave him an apologetic grimace. “Oops?” 

He just shook his head. “Oops, she says, as she starts to hemorrhage. “ He pushed the shirt out of the way, leaning down to get a closer look. “And this is why we don’t run out stabbing things ten minutes after deranged elves have tried to cut us in half.” He muttered, as he straightened back up and slid his hands under her shirt and around her, placing one where the bruise had formed, and one on her back to hold her in place.

“If I was hemorrhaging I would have passed out by now. And he’s not deranged. Besides, what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let them attack me?” She said with a small scowl.

“Quiet.” He said, and sent out a brief pulse of magic that confirmed, yes, she was bleeding again, right there, where Fenris’ sword had cut the deepest. He sent his magic through her, feeling that warm glow that was so uniquely Hawke.

Her skin was so soft beneath his hands.

Varric glanced back, and seeing they’d stopped and why, he turned and gave a short whistle to get the others’ attention. Fenris and Sebastian turned and looked as he pointed and all three of them walked swiftly back to where Anders and Hawke stood. 

Sebastian took in the scene, and jealously flared inside him, momentarily warring with his concern that Anabel might have some new injury she’d not mentioned.

Anders’ large hand was splayed out at the slender curve of her waist. She’d leaned back against his shoulder and he had his head resting on hers. Her jacket was gone, and her tattered shirt wide open, revealing a breast band of a such a fine silk that only the blonde lace that covered it kept it from being too risqué. As it was the garment merely teased at what was beneath.

Anders moved his hand up over her rib cage, nearer to her breasts and pulled her just a little closer as he did. He turned his head so it almost seemed as if he’d buried his face in her hair. If one didn’t know he was a healer, it would seem as if you’d interrupted an intimate moment between a couple. Sebastian tried to ignore the urge to tear the man away from her, to snarl out, “mine’.

He noticed Varric was watching him with a small, pleased smirk, and he forced the scowl from his face.

 _You’re being foolish. Jealous as a schoolboy with a crush. He’s merely healing her_ , he told himself as he always did when the man touched her. _Stop being ridiculous._ He tried to look at the scene objectively. Truthfully, Anabel seemed bored, staring up at the sky with a small impatient frown. 

Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling back to where the mage’s hands lay on Anabel’s pale skin. Surely he should be finished by now.

To his relief, the glow of the healing magic began to fade, but then he saw it: instead of simply lifting his hand away, Anders’ thumb brushed across her stomach, not just once, but forward, and then back again across that velvety skin. Not healing. Caressing. Letting his fingers trail softly over her waist, before he finally released her, and stepped back.

Sebastian felt his own hands clench into fists at his sides. How dare he? A quick glance at Anabel’s face confirmed that she was entirely unaware of anything untoward in the mage’s actions. 

“Better?” Anders was asking her. 

“Much.” She said. “Fantastic, in fact. I didn’t realize it was hurting that much until it stopped.

Anders just rolled his eyes.

She spotted Sebastian and Fenris and gave them an apologetic look. “I'm sorry. I’m holding us up.”

Fenris frowned. “Are you all right?”

She brushed aside his concerns. “It’s fine.”

Anders snorted.

She glared briefly at him before turning back to Fenris. “I may have jumped around a bit too much earlier. It’s fine now.” 

“You should be recuperating, not chasing after slavers.” Anders said, reaching down to pick up his staff.

“It’s fine.” She insisted again. She slipped out of her shirt, giving Sebastian a tantalizing picture of pale skin and slender curves, and silk and lace hugging the perfect swell of breasts which threatened to overflow her breastband as she bent to pick up her jacket. She straightened and shrugged into it, smiling at him as she caught him looking at her. He couldn’t help smiling back.

She turned to Fenris and started quizzing him about the holding caves as she fastened the buckles, apparently oblivious to the turmoil that the sight of her half clothed had caused him. 

He was utterly under her spell.

He couldn’t help thinking of his younger self’s reaction to this state of affairs.

_Ready to throw yourself away on one small lass and you’ve only ever kissed her? Have you lost your mind, man?_

_No,_ he replied to that younger man. _I’ve lost my heart._ He couldn’t help smiling, even as he wondered what the realization meant for him. He caught Anders scowling at him and kept his own face pleasantly neutral, careful not to let his dislike of the man show. 

“The slavers attack each other?” He heard Anabel say, and he turned back to them.

“Of course.” Said Fenris, with a sneer. “What better way to find slaves than to steal them? The pens are mostly abandoned now. Hadriana found a use for them.”

“Hadriana won’t escape us.” Sebastian reassured him. 

“I just hope this isn't a waste of time.” Fenris turned and continued down the road towards the holding caves, and Hadriana. 

 

By the time they actually reached the entrance, Hawke was wishing they had gone back to Kirkwall first. That they'd gone back and gotten every single one of her companions and most of Aveline’s guardsmen as well. Just how many had Hadriana brought with her, she wondered as they rested briefly before going in. They’d already dealt with at least three score slavers, if you included those they’d encountered earlier, and half a dozen mages. How many more waited inside? 

Fenris was pacing impatiently at the entrance. She pushed to her feet and walked over to him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She turned and gestured to the others and they walked into the cave. 

 

They surprised the group in the first room, slavers only, no mages and made quick work of them. When the last had fallen they looked around the room in horror. 

It was like a scene from the Void itself. Piled up bodies, drained of blood. One left lying carelessly on a table, a gruesome thing designed for such sacrifices, split down the center and tilted so the blood could drain neatly into a vessel placed at the head of it. 

Anabel, who had been pale since they’d entered the cave, went chalky white and stumbled to the corner where she was violently ill.

“Now you see what the magisters are capable of.” Fenris snarled. “We should all be ill.”

Sebastian crossed quickly to where Anabel was straightening up, wiping at her mouth. She didn’t look any better, though she tried to give him a reassuring smile. It lasted only briefly, before she turned and retched again. “Sorry.”

He frowned, wondering why it was that most of the time she was fine around blood and yet sometimes she reacted so violently to it, and then he realized. “It’s not the blood at all is it? It’s blood magic. You said you could feel it, feel the differences.”

She nodded, still looking shaky. He didn’t think twice, just pulled her close so that she could lean against him, and gently smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead. 

She closed her eyes briefly. “I’ll be okay in a bit. I just need to adjust.” She wasn’t sure it was true. She’d never felt anything like this before. Oppressive, and dark, and curling in her gut, and just utterly vile. She turned her face into Sebastian’s side and inhaled that reassuring scent of herbs and incense and leather and his arms tightened around her.

“Can you block it?” Said Anders suddenly, striding over to them.

She looked up, confused.

“You said you blocked Fenris before. Can you block this?”

She seemed uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“Try it.” He said watching her carefully.

She tried to think of what she’d done when she shut out Fenris. She’d thought of that small hum that she could feel from him if she tried and then had blocked it – had closed it off, and it had been gone. She didn’t even have to try and feel for the blood magic, it hung there trying to seep into her very pores. She pushed it away. It resisted at first. She thought of losing Fenris, of losing the others if she couldn’t be of use in a fight. That wasn’t going to happen, she thought with a flare of anger, and the nausea was suddenly gone.

Anders watched as the color came back into her face, and couldn’t help smiling at her. “You did it.”

She looked triumphant for a moment and then frowned. “It’s no good. I’ve blocked everything. I can’t feel Fenris’ markings. I can’t even feel your magic.” She began to panic. Yes she could fight without it, but look how spectacularly wrong that had gone earlier, and if she couldn’t feel magic how many creatures might Hadriana summon, and they’d have no warning at all. 

“Hawke.” Said Anders sharply. She turned to look at him. “How did you block it?” He asked carefully.

“I don’t know. I just closed it off. I just thought of it gone and I pushed it back, and then I got angry. I didn’t want any of you hurt.” Was that right? No. “Not angry.” She corrected. “Determined.” 

He nodded. “All right. I want you to try something.” He took her hands and pulled her away from Sebastian, so she stood on her own. “Close your eyes.” He said letting go of her hands. “Picture what you did as a wall.”

Fenris had been pacing impatiently, waiting for her to recover. “We have no time for this!” He shouted.

“Fenris.” Cautioned Sebastian. He didn’t know what Anders intended, but Anabel couldn’t go on like this, and he didn’t want her getting hurt again because she couldn't use this ability of hers.

“Hawke’s not going to be much use if all she can do is throw up on the slavers, elf.” Varric pointed out. 

Fenris muttered a curse under his breath, but didn’t protest further.

“Close your eyes, and picture a wall.” Anders repeated.

She frowned at him. “What’s that going to do?” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “Just try it, please.”

She kept frowning, but closed her eyes. All right. A wall. A wall shutting out the magic. It appeared in her mind. Massive and built of blocks of granite, looking strangely like the outer wall of the Gallows, actually.

“Is it tall?” Anders asked.

“How did you know?” She asked, opening one eye.

“Close your eyes Hawke.” He reprimanded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes. It’s massive, actually.“ 

“Lower it. Not all the way.” He added as she opened her mouth to protest. “Just enough so you can peek over it.” 

She let it shrink down. “Okay.”

“Peek over it and look for me.”

It wasn’t as literal as he was making it sound, she realized and the stone wall wavered a bit, becoming something else. A barrier of some kind. She ‘peeked’ over it feeling for Anders. Strangely the first thing she felt was the staff she had given him. The one Da had made, its magic glowing bright and clear as a candle. She reached further and there he was, all the different magics he was, and that icy blue bit of him, sharp and cool as peppermint, that was Justice, standing out sharply, part of him but also not. Her curiosity got the better of her and she reached out to touch it and it flared suddenly and then jerked away.

What did you just do?” She heard Anders ask sharply. 

“Sorry. Got a little handsy with Justice, I guess. I found you though.”

He couldn’t help smile at her delight though Justice was sputtering his outrage. Maker it was like have a hissing cat in his head. “Try for Fenris now.”

She reached out, listening for him rather than trying to touch him, and there it was, the low hum of his markings. “Got him.” she said triumphantly.

“Okay, good. Reach out a little further. What else can you feel?” He was curious to see what she'd be able to sense.

She reached out and the blood magic suddenly rushed in like a wave.

Anders saw her go pale again. “Push it back. Bring up that wall again.” He ordered.

She didn’t just push, or raise the wall, she shoved, hard, and it stayed back this time, but she could still sense it. “Okay.” She let herself reach out a bit. “There are some magical objects.” She shivered suddenly. “More blood mages further in. I can’t tell how many.” Her head tilted slightly, almost as if she were listening. “They’re in different rooms though I think.”

He frowned as he watched her. Just how far was she reaching? “No nausea?” He asked. 

She shook her head. “No. I know it’s there, but it’s like I’m just looking at it instead of being drenched in it. Does that make any sense?”

“Strangely enough it does.” He’d never seen anyone master a skill more quickly. He wondered again at what her father must have felt in her that made him go looking for that spell. “I think you’ve got it under control, Hawke. You can stop” 

She still had her eyes closed and she suddenly frowned and took a step forward, “I think…” She actually held up her hand as if she was trying to feel something. She went a little pale, not like before, but pale nonetheless. “There’s something ….” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to be straining. “Sweet Andraste, what is that…Maker, it’s vile.” She muttered hoarsely.

“Hawke, stop. Put up the wall.” He ordered.

She ignored him and took another step forward, her brow wrinkled in concentration, and for the very first time ever he felt a shiver of magic from her, and then something rushed back at her, roared, strong enough that he felt it too. She staggered under the impact of it and he managed to catch her and keep her from falling to the ground.

She was breathing heavily. “I think I found Hadriana.” She managed to get out. “She knows we’re here now. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d be able to feel me.” She hadn’t been just shut out, she’d been thrown back and the door slammed in her face, but not before she’d felt the woman’s outrage, and yes, fear too.

“All the more reason to go now.” Fenris said fiercely.

“Yes.” She agreed. Her head was throbbing. She looked at Anders. “It’s not just that I can block it, is it? It’s stronger than before.”

“I’d say so.” He admitted. He wasn’t going to tell her how much stronger. Not now. 

She gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good." She said resolutely. "We can use it then.”

And they did, clearing out the next rooms easily, given that extra second of warning from Hawke’s ability before the corpses of the men they had just killed were raised to fight them once again. Down another corridor, and into another room. 

They blinked in the sudden bright sunlight that was streaming in from an opening above. Their eyes adjusted, and another hellish scene was revealed; more drained bodies and a small elven woman struggling against the men holding her. 

“Please.” She called out to them. “For the love of mercy, help me!”

Hawke shoved back against the revolting feel of the blood magic that seemed to hang in the very air around them, and she and Fenris went rushing forward. She didn’t hold back from using her ability to sense where he was, and he seemed to be using it as well. They fought like they never had before, as a unit, and when the last of the slavers had fallen they stood there, panting and looking at each other with grim satisfaction as the others ran up to them.

The elven woman stood there shaking as she stared at the corpses around her. A woman, or a girl, Hawke wondered, unable to say precisely how young or old she was. She was small, even for an elf, with silver gilt hair slipping out of a top knot on her head. She looked impossibly frail, like a breeze might knock her over.

“Are you hurt?” Fenris demanded. “Did they touch you?”

She stared at him as if she didn’t understand. “They’ve been killing everyone. They cut Papa. Bled him.”

Sebastian made a noise of disgust. “No wonder the Maker left us.” 

“Why?” asked Fenris. “Why would they do this?” Unlike Sebastian, he’d seen men bled before, sacrificed for the purpose of blood magic, but never on this scale.

“The magister.” The elf said shakily. “She said she needed power. That someone was coming to kill her.” 

A myriad of emotions flashed across Fenris’ face at her words. Guilt, regret, and finally anger.

“We tried to be good.” The girl went on. “We did everything we were told. She loved Papa’s soup.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t understand! Why would she do this?”

For some reason it was the mention of the soup that made Anabel’s throat tighten with emotion. “I’m so sorry. This has been horrible for you.” If only she hadn’t foolishly reached out like that and given Hadriana warning. 

“Everything was fine until today!” The girl insisted.

Fenris stared at her bleakly. “No.” He said, with a shake of his head. “It wasn’t. You just didn’t know any better.”

“Is the magister still here?” Hawke asked.

The girl turned to her to look at her. “I think so. She said they were to prepare for battle.” She hesitated before adding tentatively. “I think she’s very frightened.”

”She has every reason to be.” Fenris growled.

The girl flinched back from him. “Please don’t hurt her.” She pleaded with him. “She’ll be so angry if you hurt her.”

Anabel came over and put an arm around her. “You’re safe now. Fenris won’t let her hurt you again.

The elf lifted a tearstained face to stare at him. “Are you my master now?” She asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Fenris looked alarmed and then horrified. “No!” He shouted.

Tears filled her eyes. “But I can cook. I can clean. What else will I do?” 

Anabel gently brushed her tears away. “What’s your name?”

“Orana.” The elf answered, her lip trembling.

“My name’s Hawke.” She said with a reassuring smile. “If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you. Take the path down from the cave entrance. When you get to Kirkwall, go to Hightown. Ask anyone where Hawke’s mansion is. Tell whoever answers the door that I sent you.” said Hawke.

“Yes?” said Orana, not quite able to believe her ears.

Hawke’s smile deepened. “Yes.”

“Oh, praise the Maker. Thank you.” She ran out before the woman could change her mind.

Fenris was glaring at her. “I didn’t realize you were in the market for a slave.” He said angrily.

“I gave her a job Fenris.” She snapped back at him.

He seemed taken aback. “Oh. Well. That is good then. My apologies. We should go on.”

They encountered fewer people in the next rooms, but Anabel could feel the thick weight of Hadriana’s magic pressing more heavily. Fenris was getting careless, letting his anger take over as they went on. He set off a trap in the last room, activating a jet of flames that left an angry raw burn on his arm. It took Anabel reminding him of the injury he’d done her earlier for him before he would agree to let Anders heal him.

Exhausted by the arguing, she crossed to where Sebastian stood. He gave her a gentle smile as she approached. 

“He spoke to you about her? About Hadriana?” She asked abruptly.

“Yes.” 

“I know you can’t tell me what he said, but is she as vile as her magic feels?” 

“She is.” He said quietly, looking over at Fenris. 

She scowled. “You know it’s actually quite rare for me to want to kill someone, but I truly want to kill her.” She admitted, rubbing her head gently.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.

“Headache. From this new ability, I think. At least I know what it is now. No more wondering.” She said trying, not entirely successfully, for a light tone. 

It must be frightening , he thought. “It seems useful.” 

“It does….It is.” She admitted. “I’m glad Anders was here though.” She said looking at the mage. “I can’t imagine having to go through this without any guidance.”

“Yes, I could see that.” It had been fascinating to watch, actually, as the mage guided her through exploring and controlling this new ability. It was a side of Anders he hadn’t seen before. He was grateful, for Anabel’s sake. He looked over at him, just finishing up healing Fenris. He thought of the way the man had touched her earlier when he was supposed to be healing her. He still didn’t trust him. 

Fenris got to his feet as soon as Anders was done, and stalked past them. Hawke barely managed to catch up with him. 

He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “She is through this door?” He demanded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in her mind.

Fenris’ face twisted into a grimace of satisfaction, and he suddenly moved past her, slamming the door wide open and charging down the corridor into the room beyond. 

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted after him and she cursed. She heard sounds from behind her, shouting and fighting. She turned to find more men had come in from a side chamber. 

She heard a woman’s voice ahead. “You’ve made a terrible mistake coming here, Slave.” Cold. Harsh.

“Not as much as you have, Witch.” She heard Fenris snarl back.

She ran swiftly towards him, leaving the others to handle the new threat, and rounded the corner into the chamber itself. Hadriana stood at the far end, surrounded by armed slavers, who were coming at Fenris in waves, trying to wear him down. He was taking them down mindlessly; to him they were merely obstacles keeping him from his true target. But he couldn’t sustain this kind of fighting for long on his own. Hawke ran and flipped, landing beside him and together they made short work of Hadriana’s men. As the last man fell they turned together to face her. 

She’d put up a magical shield and she peered at Hawke through the shimmering barrier. “It was you I felt before.” She accused and she turned Fenris. “You found another powerful mage to serve. Though you would deny it you seek a master, slave.” She taunted.

“She is no mage.” He said, his voice low.

Hadriana laughed scornfully. “I know what I felt. She’s powerful, but not more powerful than I am.” 

“I will end you.” Fenris threatened. 

“You will try.” Said Hadriana. Her barrier dropped and she cast a spell. The fallen bodies around them came to life, and she vanished from in front of them, reappearing at the far end of the room.

They began to fight, and Anabel was dimly aware of the others rushing into the room. Anders and Varric moved closer, attacking the corpses from behind. Sebastian stayed near the entrance, giving himself the range he needed, firing arrow after arrow each shot precise. Lethal. 

Suddenly half a dozen shades materialized, circling him, drawing closer and rendering his bow all but useless. Anabel saw it, and didn’t even hesitate. She ran towards him, flipping over the corpses, using her knives to kill anything in her way until she was beside him, and then she spun and sliced and stabbed, and lead them far enough away that he could fire his arrows again. The shades fell quickly and they turned to aid the others. Hadriana had summoned more shades, and Anders and Varric were busy fighting them. Sebastian began firing arrows at them. Anabel turned, intending to go after Hadriana, but as soon as she did the woman vanished again, reappearing behind Fenris as he brought his sword down on the last of the corpses. 

Hadriana gave a low laugh and Anabel felt her pulling her magic, gathering it together, and realized what the magister had done: She’d separated Fenris from the rest of them. She watched in horror as Hadriana cast her spell. Fenris froze in place, and seemed to be struggling to breathe. The spell pulsed around him, and she watched his face grow dark. It was slowly crushing him.

Sebastian saw it and began firing arrows frantically at Hadriana, but she’d brought up another barrier and the arrows bounced harmlessly off of it.

Anabel started to run, hoping she’d be able to reach Fenris in time, to do something, anything. She skidded on the pooled blood on the floor, and fell. She scrambled to get to her feet, and she could feel Hadriana pulling her magic again and she realized she was going to kill him. She wasn’t trying to take him alive anymore. She was going to kill him and skin him and take the markings back to Denarius. 

Hadriana swung her staff around, and Anabel could feel the crackle of electricity gathering and without thinking she threw her own arm out, as if she could somehow stop her from casting, and shouted out, ‘NO!”

She felt something rush out of her, as if it were being torn from inside her, and she screamed not from pain, but simply from the sensation. Whatever it was seemed to roar across the room, a tidal wave of energy, of something. It hit Hadriana and she flew back as if she had been struck and landed in a crumpled heap a few feet away. 

The spell holding Fenris suspended disappeared, and he too fell to the ground. 

Anabel collapsed on all fours. Her whole body was shaking, trembling with the strain of whatever it was she had just done. Sebastian appeared at her side, pulling her into his arms and she clung to him trying to figure out what had just happened. Anders had fallen to his knees in front of her. 

“Are you hurt?” Sebastian was asking frantically.

She couldn’t seem to focus her thoughts. “I’m not certain. I don’t think so.” She managed to get out. “Is Fenris all right?” She twisted in Sebastian’s arms, trying to see, and he shifted so she could. Fenris was pushing himself upright, taking deep gasping breaths. She sagged in relief. “Oh, thank Andraste.” She let herself collapse against Sebastian and his arms tightened around her.

“What was that?” He asked. He could still feel her trembling. 

“I don’t know.” The very air around them seemed clearer somehow. That miasma of blood magic was just…gone.

“That was a smite.” Anders said, his voice hoarse. He was staring at her, unable to keep the horror from his face. It hadn’t even been directed at him and he felt feeble as a kitten. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know…” She repeated helplessly. “I’m sorry.” Da had told her what it felt like when a Templar did that. Another Templar gift, some dim part of her brain realized. 

Anders looked away from her. He’d forgotten how much he hated the feel of it, having his magic torn from him like that.

Varric was looking around him. The shades hadn’t just collapsed, they had vanished completely. “I’m telling you.” He muttered softly to himself. “You can’t make this stuff up.”

Fenris pushed himself to his feet and stalked towards Hadriana. Anabel forced herself to do the same, though she was still shaky enough that Sebastian had to help her.

They crossed to where Fenris stood looming over Hadriana. She lay there. One hand fluttered towards her staff, but then dropped feebly down at her side. She stared at Hawke as she and Sebastian came up beside Fenris. Fear and loathing were plain on her face. “What are you?” She hissed. “Fenris did not lie. You are no mage. No mage would do that to another.”

“I don’t know what I am.” Hawke admitted.

Hadriana paid no attention to her words, just stared at her. “I felt you before. Felt you probing, seeking the magic around you. But this….” She shook her head at the girl. “Not a Templar? No.” She dismissed the thought almost immediately. “It was a smite, yes, but wild, powerful, uncontrolled. Your chantry keeps their Templars on far too tight a leash to let them have that sort of power. What are you?” She repeated, and suddenly her eyes widened in astonishment. “No. It cannot be. _Arcebatur_.” She whispered the word, staring at Hawke. Horror and pity mingled on her face. “ _Arcebatur_. No.” She denied. “It is outlawed. Forbidden. The magic was lost centuries ago.” She looked furious. “Who did this to you?” She demanded. “They should be torn to pieces. They should suffer the all torments of the Void for doing such a thing!” 

“Who did what?” Hawke demanded. “What is it that was done to me? What does that mean?”

She might as well not have spoken. “The power you could have wielded, to be so powerful still.” Hadriana said with awe. She finally seemed to notice Hawke’s confusion. “You do not even know what you have lost.” She murmured. “ _Arcebatur_. Danarius must know of this. He will want to see you. Study you. What he could do to his rivals if he could discover how this was done to you. He will be so pleased.” 

Fenris saw the all too familiar ambition flare in her eyes and he stepped towards her, raising his sword above him. “You will never see him to tell him.” 

Hadriana flinched as if she’d only just remembered he was there.

“Stop. You do not want me dead.” She cried out.

“There is only one person I want dead more.” Fenris sneered.

“I have information, elf, and I will trade it for my life.”

“The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I’d rather he lose his pet pupil.” He raised his sword higher.

“You have a sister!” She called out quickly, and saw the astonishment on his face with satisfaction. “She is alive. You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go and I will tell you where she is.”

Fenris turned an uncertain face towards Hawke and Sebastian, as if seeking an answer from them.

“How do we even know you’re telling the truth?” Asked Hawke.

Hadriana gave a harsh laugh. “You don’t. But I know Fenris and I know what he’s searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius he’ll have to pay. You want to know who you were Fenris. And you.” She turned to Anabel. “You don’t even know what’s been done to you. Let me go and I can tell you.”

Hawke gave her a look of pure loathing. Right. And how quickly would Hadriana run to Danarius and tell him everything. She turned to Fenris. “It’s up to you, Fenris.” 

He didn’t say anything but moved closer to Hadriana, looking down at her, his face unreadable.

“So I have your word?” Hadriana asked eagerly. “I tell you and you let me go?”

He bent closer, his face a perfect mask. “Yes.” He said at last. “You have my word.”

“Her name is Varania. She is in Quirinas, serving a magister by the name of Ahriman.“

“A servant, not a slave.” Fenris clarified.

“She’s not a slave.” Hadriana confirmed.

“I believe you.” Fenris said, his voice utterly dispassionate. His markings flared to light. He pulled back slightly and then thrust his hand into her chest. She stared at him in astonishment. His hand twisted and she slumped to the ground, lifeless. 

Fenris had turned away before her body even hit the ground. “We are done here.” He said grimly.

“Are you all right?” Hawke asked hesitantly as he pushed past her.

He whirled around to glare at her. “Am I all right?” He repeated.

“I meant do you want to talk about it?” She said, awkwardly.

He stalked towards her. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.” He shouted. “This could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this ‘sister’. Even if he didn’t trying to find her would still be suicide. Danarius has to know about her, and has to know Hadriana knows. But all that matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch’s heart. May she rot, and all the other mages with her.”

“And here I thought you were going to be unreasonable.” Muttered Anders from where he stood.

Fenris ignored him. “I was a fool to think I was free. I should have known he would never let me go.” He turned away from her.

She reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should leave.” She said softly. 

He jerked out of her touch. “Don’t comfort me.” He snarled at her. He began to pace frantically, back and forth in front of her. “You saw what was done here. There’s always going to be some excuse, some reason that mages need to do this.”

“This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look for your sister.” Said Sebastian.

He turned on him. “What else does it mean? Even if I found her who knows what the magisters have done to her? What has magic touched that it doesn’t spoil?” The words seemed to hang in the air. 

Anabel didn’t answer, but she couldn’t quite manage to keep the hurt from her eyes. Sebastian moved behind her putting his hands on her shoulders.

Fenris stood there, immediately regretting what he’d said. He didn’t know how to correct it. “I…need to go.” He muttered. Without another word he turned and left.

 

They made it back to the city by sunset. They hadn’t passed Fenris on the road, and he wasn’t at the Hanged Man. They left Varric there. Anders had left for his clinic as soon as they entered the city, still not looking her in the eye. Hawke and Sebastian went up to Hightown, to Fenris’ mansion, but he hadn’t returned there. They tried every other location they could think of, before giving up, and returning to Hawke’s where they found that Orana had made it there before them, much to Bodahn’s confusion. They settled her in a room near Bodahn and Sandal. Hawke tried to explain that she would be paid, but the girl seemed confused at the very idea of it.

Eventually they ended up in the kitchen, eating bowls of rich stew that Bodahn had prepared. 

“He might be in the Undercity. He goes there sometimes, looking for slavers.” Hawke suggested.

“We’re not going to Darktown tonight, Anabel.” Sebastian said firmly. “If he hasn’t returned to his house by morning we’ll go. You need to rest.” He’d barely succeeded in getting her to sit down and eat something.

She opened her mouth to argue, as Bodahn appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me, Messere. Serrah Fenris is in the foyer. He’s asked to see you.”

Hawke scrambled quickly to her feet. “He’s here?” She didn’t wait for Bodahn to confirm it, but pushed past him running through the house, skidding to a halt in the foyer.

Fenris had been sitting on one of the benches, but he got to his feet when she came in.

“Thank the Maker.” Her voice was breathless. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. I was worried.”

He looked embarrassed. “I have been thinking about Hadriana. I took my anger out on you, undeservedly so. I was not myself. I am sorry.” 

“Oh, Fenris. There’s no need to apologize. People take their frustrations out on me all the time. You know that.”

“You are generous.” He tried to explain. “When I was still a slave Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond, and she knew it. The thought of her slipping out my grasp now… I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to explain.” Hawke said immediately. “I knew her less than an hour and I wanted to kill her myself.” Her face softened as she saw how haunted he seemed. “What do you mean, ‘you couldn’t.” She asked.

“I should be happy now that she’s dead. Instead I feel nothing but despair. This hate.” His voice shook. “I thought I’d gotten away from it. But it dogs me wherever I go. To feel it again. To know that it was they who planted it inside me…it was too much to bear.” His voice trailed off. “I didn’t come here to burden you further. I should go.” He turned and walked towards the door.

“Fenris.” She called after him. “You’re not a burden. We’re friends.”

He paused, but didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure I even know what that means.” He said, and left.

She stood there, staring at the now closed door. She heard Sebastian came up behind her, and she turned her head to look at him. “Did you hear?”

“Some of it.”

“I wish I knew how to help him.” She said, a small frown wrinkling her brow.

He resisted the urge to press a kiss to the spot. “You are helping him, Anabel. More than you know.” 

She gave him a small smile. “Come sit in the garden with me for a bit.” 

She didn’t speak again until they were both sitting on the bench by the fountain. 

She looked around. “I can’t believe all that’s happened today. It seems at least a week ago that I was having breakfast here.” 

“It’s been quite a day.” He commented.

“An awful day. And a good one.” She watched the water splash in the fountain. “Fenris is safe, for now at least. I found out what I am. _Arcebatur_.” She said the word carefully and then gave him a quick smile. “Of course I don’t know what that is, but whatever it is, it came in rather handy today.”

“It did.” He agreed. _Arcebatur_. “It sounds like Ancient Tevene.” He said thoughtfully. “I couldn’t tell you what it meant though.” He said with an easy smile. “Classics were never a strong subject for me.”

“We’ll have to find someone who knows it.” She frowned. “I suppose it should be someone we can trust. For all we know it might mean ‘look, there’s a secret mage’.” She shivered suddenly.

“It’s a lot to take in.” He said watching her.

“It’s the surprises I don’t care for. If I hadn’t been so careless Hadriana might not have known we were coming. She might not have killed all those people. Orana might still have her father.”

His hand briefly caressed her face. “You saved Orana. Gave her a chance at a new life.” He reminded her.

“I wish I’d been able to save more.” 

He was silent for a moment and when he did speak his voice was soft as a caress. “Seeing all of that, those poor souls sacrificed to fuel a magister’s power.” He hesitated. “I thought for a moment that mankind was truly beyond redemption. I understood why the Maker would turn his back on us. And then something wonderful happened.” He turned to look at her. His eyes seemed to glow in the moonlit garden.

“What?” She asked.

He gave her that peaceful smile that she loved so much. “Did you not hear what Orana said when you offered her work and shelter?” He asked.

Anabel cast her mind back and then she smiled at him. “She thanked the Maker.”

“Yes. Even living like that, the lowliest slave of a truly evil woman she had faith enough to recognize a blessing that the Maker bestowed and she freely thanked Him for it. Even in the darkness of Minrathous His words are heard. It was…humbling.”

She watched him. His contentment, his joy just radiated out from him. It was the life he truly wanted. His whole face lit up when he spoke of his faith. She shouldn’t try and take that from him. She suddenly couldn’t bear to see it and she looked away.

She’d let herself forget it the past few days. Had let herself pretend. And he’d seemed willing to pretend as well, she thought, remembering the way he’d kissed her. How he’d held her hand in front of the others. The way he touched her face or her hair, or held her when she’d fallen or when she was ill. She hadn’t objected, had welcomed his touch. Wanted more. Wanted him.

“You kissed me today.” She said, still not looking at him.

He hadn’t expected her to bring it up. “Yes.” He said simply. 

“Again.”

“Yes.” He hadn’t intended to, but then he never did. He’d had to touch her. Feel her. Had to know that he hadn’t lost her. It had been reckless. Careless. Thoughtless even. 

“Are you going to keep kissing me?”

“I shouldn’t.” He said at last.

“Don’t get me wrong.” She said, trying to make light of it. “Kissing you…it’s quite amazing. But it’s not worth the price of losing you.” She finally turned to look at him, and her eyes seemed huge and dark in the moonlit garden.

He felt suddenly ashamed that he had been willing to risk it. 

She’d caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I worry that if that keeps happening you’ll decide you can’t…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know I can’t have…” Again her voice trailed off she didn’t speak for a moment and when she did her voice was barely a whisper. “No. You shouldn’t.”

“I would never intentionally hurt you, Ana.”

She smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. “I know that.” Her eyes were full of such trust, such warmth. 

Such love.

She loved him.

And he had taken advantage of it. “I don’t want to lose you either. It won’t happen again.” 

“Good.” She said resolutely, and if her eyes seemed to glisten suddenly in the darkness he wasn’t going to remark on it. “Now, as I recall, you still owe me lunch.” 

“I do.” He wanted to say more. Tell her he loved her too. That he was just trying to keep her safe. Trying not to corrupt her.

“Tomorrow works for me.” She suggested.

“Tomorrow it is, then.” 

“I’m going to do some research in the Chantry library. You can pick me up there.”

He frowned. “Research?”

She smiled. “Not on the Imperial Chantry, I promise. I want to read up on Templars. What they can do. If I can smite mages and sense magic the way they can, I want to see what else I might expect. I can’t very well walk up to Knight Captain Cullen and ask him now, can I?”

“No, I suppose not.” 

“So I’ll see you there tomorrow, after the midday service?” 

“Yes.” 

She looked away again.

He knew he should leave, and yet he was reluctant to do so.

He knew that once he left something would have changed. Now that they’d spoken of it, admitted it, there would be no more touches, no more kisses. No more pretending they weren’t aware of the temptation. No more giving into it, and pretending it had been accidental.

He couldn’t seem to move.

She turned finally and gave him a tremulous smile. “Would you mind showing yourself out? I want to stay out here a bit longer.”

“Of course.” He said automatically. It was a dismissal worthy of a queen, he thought. 

Of a princess.

His heart gave a painful twist. “Good Night, Anabel.” He started to bend to kiss her cheek, but stopped himself. 

She noticed, of course. He saw her blink back her tears as she continued to look at the fountain. “Good Night, Sebastian.” She said softly. 

She didn’t watch him leave, couldn’t bear to see it, for some ridiculous reason. 

It was the right thing to have done, she told herself firmly. He deserved that life he’d wanted so badly. 

She didn’t try to stop the tears from running down her cheeks, though. 

It was so stupid. She’d known all along she couldn’t have him. And she wasn’t losing him. Not really. Just that impossible dream of him. 

There was no reason to feel like this.

“Mistress?”

She looked up to find Orana standing there. The girl had barely spoken since they’d settled her in. Anabel quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to call me that. Hawke is fine, or Messere, if you insist on being as formal as Bodahn. Is everything all right?”

Orana looked startled by the question. “Yes Mistress. You had been out here for a while, and I thought you might be cold.” She tentatively held out a shawl. She didn’t quite know what her duties were going to be. Her new mistress seemed to do almost everything herself, but she was determined to be of use, so they would have no reason to cast her out.

It was cool, but not really cold, but Anabel supposed to someone used to the warmer clime of Tevinter it would seem so. “Thank you.” She said with a smile, taking the shawl and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Orana wondered why Mistress Hawke had been crying. The beautiful gentleman who’d left, who had such blue eyes, had seemed just as upset. “Can I get you anything else, Mistress?”

“No. I’m fine. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Orana gave her a curtsy, and left the garden. 

Hawke watched her leave. The girl had seen her whole world turned upside down today, had watched her father killed in front of her, seen him have his blood drained out of him and was she moping and weeping and lamenting her life? 

No.

_Enough of this. You have so much. Food and shelter and more money than you know what to do with. Family and friends, and even Sebastian, though it may not be in the way you want._

It is what it is. _Asit tal-eb_. The phrase from the book on the Qunari she’d been reading suddenly popped into her head. Part of their Qun. _Asit tal-eb_. It is what will be. It cannot be changed.

No wonder they were always such cranky bastards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been putting together some inspiration photos on my tumblr account for this series. I'll continue adding to it as the story progresses. If anyone wants to take a peek just click here: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	22. No Place for Men of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is asked to enter the Fade to rescue Feynriel. She's surprised by Sebastian's reaction to the request. Also some fluff, a bit of jealousy and some entirely inappropriate thoughts on Sebastian's part.

It was dark and dreary and rainy the next day, which seemed to suit Sebastian’s mood perfectly. Anabel’s words last night should have filled him with satisfaction. She cared about him. She wanted his friendship. She understood his desire to stay in the Chantry. She understood the limitations that their relationship had to have. And she had been right; if he kept giving in, if he continued kissing and caressing her, it would have eventually made him break off any contact with her. They were both safer like this.

So why was he so unhappy about it? Was it because she had been the one to make the pronouncement? Was it purely male ego? It should have been his decision?

Was he truly that shallow an individual? 

Lightning flashed outside, followed almost immediately by the boom of thunder. It seemed as if the storm had planted itself over Kirkwall, and it showed no signs of wanting to leave.

To top it all off his dreams had been filled with Anabel. Dreams of undressing her, touching her, pressing the naked length of her up against his own flesh, placing his lips on every inch of her, tasting the very core of her, and finally easing into her feeling that tightness hot and slick around him, thrusting into her as she moaned her own pleasure, until he’d exploded from the pleasure and woken to find his bedclothes sticky with his own spend. He’d rinsed them out himself, unable to believe he’d had such a dream, like a twelve year old adolescent boy. Was this what he was going to be reduced to from now on? Now that he and Anabel had agreed to no physical contact, was his own mind going to torment him with pictures of what could be?

There was a gust of wind outside that sent a sheet of rain pounding against the window, and another flash of lightning.

He wondered if the weather would keep Anabel from the chantry library today. 

He wondered if she had ended the physical part of their relationship because there was someone she wanted more. Someone who could give her what he wouldn’t – couldn’t, he quickly corrected.

Perhaps Anders. Perhaps his early suspicions had been correct. Perhaps there was something between them. Perhaps she was aware of the way the mage looked at her and that much of his touching seemed to have little to do with healing.

Perhaps she enjoyed it.

He scowled and reached out and grabbed for a quill, knocking over the ink well, and let out a string of curses under his breath. The morning’s correspondence, ruined. “Son of a...”

“Your mood seems as dark as the weather, Sebastian.” 

He looked up to find Elthina standing there. He watched as the vellum soaked up the ink. He started to deny it, but found he couldn’t. “Yes.” He admitted. “I’m afraid it is. I apologize, your Grace.” 

It was so unlike him. Much more like the boy he had been when he’d first joined them. “Is it just the weather or is there something else troubling you?” 

She saw him hesitate, and for a moment she thought he would refuse to speak of it, but after a glance at the rain through the window he said, “Anabel thought it would be wise if we put some distance between us.” 

Ah. Well that would explain his mood. The Grand Cleric watched him closely. “I see. And you disagree with her decision?”

A small scowl came to his face. “No. She’s right. Of course she’s right.”

“Is she?” She watched him carefully.

His expression was dour. “She’s smarter than I am. She knows I wish to retake my vows. She worries that if we continue like this it will just make it more painful when I do.” 

Elthina was beginning to reconsider whether either of them was particularly intelligent. She had watched them for months now. It was obvious that their feelings for each other had only grown in that time. She had hoped Sebastian would realize the strength of his affection for Hawke, would realize that retaking his vows was perhaps not what the Maker intended for him. She herself was convinced of it now. She wondered what had happened that had brought the two of them to this decision. Certainly Sebastian was unhappy with it. He had been sulking most of the morning. “Painful for her?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Painful for both of us.” He finally admitted, reluctantly. He waited for Elthina to tell him that this was why she’d refused to let him retake his vows, that obviously if he was pining for or lusting after Hawke, he wasn’t fit to rejoin the Chantry.

But all she said was. “I see.” 

She was certain that Hawke and Sebastian had been brought together for a reason. All those coincidences. The way they kept stumbling across each other, kept finding each other, aiding each other. There were those that the Maker had decided were meant to be with each other. She’d thought that Hawke and Sebastian…Had she been wrong? She didn’t think so.

“I’m sorry you won’t be seeing her. You obviously take great pleasure in her company, and she in yours. Would you like to talk about it? It’s been some time since we spoke about things, just the two of us.” 

It had been weeks since his last confession. Not since before Isabela’s party, he realized. Perhaps he should confess all that had happened. Perhaps that would help ease his turmoil. Reassure him that he was doing the right thing, help him remain strong in the face of all the temptations Anabel offered. 

Elthina watched the expressions pass over his face. “We could dine together here in my office, and speak of things. Informally.” She suggested.

He was so grateful for Elthina’s concern. That she was a part of his life. “I would like that Grand Cleric, but actually I’m taking Anabel to lunch today.” He admitted. 

Her brows raised in surprise. “But you said you had decided to put some distance between you.” She said, not understanding.

He should have confessed long before this. “I didn't mean not seeing her." He paused before continuing. "I’ve allowed myself some physical contact with her.” He muttered, looking down at the floor.

She hesitated, trying to understand what he might be implying. “Do you mean that you’ve had sexual relations with her?” 

His head jerked up. “No! Maker, no, nothing like that.” He looked stunned that she would even suggest it. “I’ve kissed her. Held her. But nothing more.”

It was obvious even to an old woman like her that he wanted there to be more than that. Perhaps it was more obvious to her than it was to him. She wondered what was holding him back. Something more than his insistence that he wanted to remain in the Chantry. He spent only his mornings at the Chantry of late. The rest of the time he was with Hawke, aiding her in her work, but he also spent a great deal of time simply in her company, at her house, or at the dinners and parties that he attended with increasing frequency, but only if she accompanied him. Several people had commented to her about it, some genuinely curious, some seeking to tattle. She had merely smiled and remarked how nice it was that two unattached young people enjoyed each other’s companionship so very much. To the clergy who had raised concerns, she reminded them that Sebastian was under no vows and though he was a lay brother residing in the Chantry, his status as the rightful heir of Starkhaven afforded him certain freedoms and a more flexible application of the rules. Only Mother Petrice had continued to bring it up on her visits from the Lowtown Chantry that had been her domain since shortly after the incident with Ser Varnell and the Qunari.

Sebastian took the Grand Cleric's momentary silence as skepticism of the truth of his words. “Anabel is entirely innocent in such things. I would never corrupt her like that. I would never use her the way I used so many. I won’t let it happen.” His denial was determined. 

And there was the crux of the matter. She should have realized it before. How could she make him see that it wasn’t avoiding a relationship with the girl that would keep him from using her, it was loving her? 

She needed to think on it. To consider. To decide if a direct approach would be best, or if it were something he needed to come to on his own. “I see. Well, you’d best go and get ready for your lunch.” She said indicating his priest’s robes. “You don’t want to be late.”

Sebastian frowned, puzzled. He’d expected to have to defend his actions. He’d expected a lecture or reprimand or at least some comment on what he had just told her. 

Elthina just smiled serenely and went back into her office.

 

After he’d changed, he made his way to the library. He found Anabel in a distant corner, sitting at a large table, surrounded by books. She had half a dozen different volumes open on the table and one in her lap that she was flipping through with a cross expression on her face. She was wearing a simple white shirt, and her hair was down and damp, obviously as a result of walking to the Chantry in the rain. She seemed to glow like a candle. 

“You’ve almost buried yourself." He commented as he walked up to her.

She looked up in surprise and smiled at him, seeming so pleased to see him that he felt his gloomy mood evaporate. It was ridiculous that one small woman should have this strong an effect on him. 

“Yes, I know…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the books around her, as if surprised by the sheer number she’d accumulated. “I’m afraid it’s entirely due to my own ignorance. I keep coming up with questions that lead me off in another direction and off to another book. And it none of it seems to be helping in the slightest. I’m entirely muddled. I’ve come to the realization that I know absolutely nothing about the Templars at all. Did you know they were originally their own entity? They didn’t start out as part of the Chantry?“ 

“I did.” He couldn’t help smiling. She sounded outraged that no one had let her know. 

“And then there are these ‘Seekers’.” She reached for another more slender volume. “How have I never heard of them before?”

“They’re a secretive organization. They prefer it that way, I think.”

“They watch the Templars! Keep them in line. How does no one know that they exist? I’ve always thought that the Templars only reported to the Chantry, but no, they’ve got these Seekers of Truth, which by the way is possibly the most ridiculously self-important name I’ve ever heard. And if they’re policing the Templars, where are they when mages are beaten and abused? How come they never seem to do anything about the rotten Templars? Just what do they do if they neglect the most obvious abuses?”

He’d opened his mouth to answer but she’d already moved on, tossing the book on the Seekers to the table, and picking up another larger thicker volume.

“And then there’s the lyrium. Everything I’ve found skirts neatly around the issue that it’s the Chantry that actually controls the lyrium trade with the dwarves, and hardly anyone mentions the fact that the stuff is given to the Templars regularly, in spite of the fact it’s addictive and that all Templars basically go completely loony in the end.” She dropped that book with a thud and picked up another. “And this one claims that lyrium nullifies magic, that’s why they give it to the Templars, but if lyrium nullifies magic, why would red lyrium enhance magic? Of course if I were to go by these books red lyrium doesn’t even exist. No one even mentions it. And all of this has required slogging through the dullest books ever, just to find a sentence or two that might answer the questions I’ve got, but all it seems to do is raise more questions.”

He couldn’t help smiling at her. Even cross as she was, she was utterly delectable. “Have you found nothing helpful?”

“I did find one thing.” She reached across the table for another book, and he swallowed hard. She was wearing form fitting black trousers that revealed the surprisingly generous curve of her bottom, but instead of a belt she wore a corset of sorts, made of leather, that hugged her slender curves from just below her shoulder blades, to the top of her hips. He hadn’t noticed it when she’d been sitting down. She grabbed a more slender book and flipped it open, pulling out the hair ribbon she’d used to mark the page. “Read this.” She said handing it to him. She reached behind her to tie back her hair. The action lifted her breasts, and he noticed how the corset dipped to follow the curves before meeting in front, fastened by a series of buckles, ten in all, he counted, and his eyes couldn’t help following them down to where the garment ended in a point at her hips, a point that drew his eyes down to the juncture of her thighs. His dreams rushed back to him, with the added image of Anabel wearing nothing but the corset and the over the knee leather boots she currently had on.

He turned his attentions to the book, trying desperately to dismiss the image from his mind.

_It takes incredible focus to wield magic, but even greater will to withstand it. The Templar specialization originated in the Chantry with the establishment of the order, and their mandate remains the restriction and containment of mages. But the abilities Templars command are not divine; they are the product of intense training and rigorous devotions. These are achievable by any warrior, although the discipline required may seem just as much a calling. Templars don’t just endure magic, they deny it, and deny others the use of it. At the height of ability, a Templar simply shrugs off most harmful effects, and can completely suppress a mage’s ability to cast. They are warriors of singular focus, and none can match their dedication or effectiveness at taming those who would abuse the magical energies of the Fade._

He looked at the front of the book. _The Templar Warrior_ by Egadorio Bargawen. “What is it I’m looking for?” 

She stood up and moved closer, giving him a whiff of the scent of her shampoo. “They don’t just endure magic, they deny it.” She quoted and looked up at him expectantly. “Whatever Da did denied my magic. Maybe that’s why my talents seem to mimic a Templar’s.”

He was momentarily lost in the blue and green of her eyes. What was wrong with him? Anabel had always been tempting, but he’d never had this difficult a time controlling himself. He had to take a moment before he was capable of a coherent response. “I’m not certain if it can be taken that literally. The Templars are denying the magic of others, not their own.”

She seemed to hesitate before asking carefully. “Do we know that for certain?” 

He stared at her. “What you’re suggesting would require the Templars have magic to deny.”

She hesitated. “Maybe they do.” He opened his mouth to deny it but she had continued on. “If their skills are the product of training and devotions why do they need the lyrium? And why would the lyrium replenish the mana of a mage, but nullify magic for a Templar? It doesn’t make any sense.” She gave a groan of frustration and flung herself back in the chair. “I give up.” She said, throwing her hands up in resignation. She looked up at him, brushing a curl out of her face. “And do you know what the most ridiculous thing of all is?”

“What?” He said, pleased beyond reason just to be able to watch her.

She sighed, feeling foolish. “I miss you. I’ve been sitting here this whole time slogging through these books, missing you like mad, in spite of the fact that I know I’ll still get to see you, that we’ll still get to spend time together, that we were having lunch together today, for Andraste’s sake. I’ve been just sitting here moping, sulking, pining away as if you’d died, or moved to Seheron. I’ve been in the most foul mood all morning long. I’m beginning to suspect this horrid weather is actually the product of my sulking.”

“I knocked an inkwell over this morning and let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. I’ve been missing you as well.” He admitted.

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Truly?” she asked.

“Truly.” He said with an answering smile.

“We’re pathetic.”

“We are indeed.” A day ago he would have reached out to touch her, to brush back the curl that lay against her cheek, or take her hand in his, but he forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.

She seemed pleased by the admission. “Where are you taking me to lunch?” she asked with a small tilt of her head.

“I’d heard of an Antivan place near Lowtown, but with this sort of weather I don’t know if we’d want to trek down there.

“I’ve got a ridiculously well stocked larder. We could see what we could pull together at my house.” She suggested.

“We could, but then I still owe you lunch.”

“Yes. It’s all part of my nefarious plan to keep you near me. I’ll keep insisting you take me to lunch and then change the plans at the last minute.” She said with a teasing smile. She pushed to her feet. “Let me just get these put away.” 

He helped her and then watched as she grabbed a coat off of one of the chairs. It was one he’d never seen her wear before, made of a deep red wool with touches of dark blue at the cuffs and collar. “Is this new?” He asked as he took it from her and held it so she could slip into it more easily.

She shrugged it on. It came to midcalf on her, and she’d rolled up the cuffs to keep her hands free. “It’s Da’s actually. I found it in one of our trunks when I was looking for those letters I told you about. I don’t know how much protection it’ll afford me, but it’s warm and it smells like herbs and such. Like Da. It reminds me of him."

It suited her. Her femininity was entirely undiminished by the garment. In truth the severe cut only enhanced it.

He had a sudden picture of her enveloped in one of his shirts. And nothing else.

Sweet Andraste, this needed to stop. He was like a child who’d been told no, you can’t have that toy, and now that was all that he wanted.

The rain was still pouring down when they left the Chantry, though not as heavily. They got wet, but it wasn’t enough to soak through her coat, or Sebastian’s cloak. All the same she led him straight into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of dishtowels and tossing him one before using the other to soak the water dripping from her hair.

His hood had fallen in their mad dash from the Chantry, and water from his hair was dripping down the back of his neck. He unfastened his cloak, draping over one of the chairs at the large wooden table and rubbed his hair dry with the towel in both hands.

She’d taken off her coat and turned to say something to him and stopped open mouthed and just stared.

He caught the look as he pulled the towel away. “What?” He asked.

She blinked at him. “Your hair. It’s…rumpled.”

He immediately reached up to smooth it back.

“Don’t!” She ordered. She walked up to him, pausing in front of him and then looking at him from first one side and then the other, before returning to stand in front of him. 

Sebastian’s hair was always perfect. It was the only flaw that she’d ever found in his appearance. It seemed to indicate something deeper. Too tight a hold on things, too much control. Too great a fear of letting go. But looking at him now…

His reddish brown hair was actually quite long and not straight as she had thought. With it falling into his eyes he looked younger and more carefree. 

Sexier.

Perfect.

She realized he was looking at her apprehensively and she couldn't help grinning. “Sorry. I’ve just never seen you rumpled before.”

He reached up and smoothed it back and she let him this time. Unlike her own hair which was already curling uncontrollably around her head his stayed in place, but she felt as if she’d gotten a glimpse of him that he hadn’t intended. She found the idea inexplicably pleasing.

Orana came in from the pantry and seemed first startled and then horrified to find them there.

Anabel gave her a reassuring smile. “Hi, Orana. You remember Sebastian. We’re hunting for something for lunch. I know there was some leftover ham lurking around in here somewhere.” 

She started to move towards the pantry only to find Orana standing in the way. “Mistress, I can do that. You shouldn’t prepare your own food.” She didn’t think her old mistress even knew where the kitchen was.

Hawke looked at Sebastian in confusion.

“She’s obviously heard tales of your culinary skills.” He said with a teasing smile.

She pretended to scowl at him. “They’re not entirely nonexistent, you know. I can make stew. And soup.”

He managed to refrain from pointing out that those were effectively the same thing, you just added more liquid to one. “Indeed? Soup AND stew. I had no idea.”

“Yes.” She said firmly, choosing to ignore the teasing tone. “I’m very good at chopping things into small pieces.”

“Ah, well that I was aware of.” 

“You’re funny." she said feigning surprise. "I didn’t think they let princes be funny.” 

“Only the ones that they’ve abandoned as a lost cause.” He said with a smile.

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ve always had a soft spot for a lost cause.”

“And I’m the luckier for it.” 

“Flatterer.” She walked past Orana and began poking in the larder. “There’s bread and cheese. And here’s the ham. We could do sandwiches.” She offered.

Orana seemed almost distressed at the mere thought of their getting their own food. “Please mistress, I can get it for you. I’ll bring it as soon as it’s prepared.”

“Let us help at least.” Hawke offered. 

Orana gave Sebastian a pleading look.

“Come Anabel. Let’s leave Orana to her work.” He said ushering her out. 

In no time at all Orana had sent Sandal out with a tray of grilled sandwiches, melted cheese and thinly sliced ham and grilled onions, with a honey mustard that added just the right tang of sweet and spicy, along with a pitcher of fresh apple cider and two mugs. 

When they’d finished Anabel sat back and licked a trace of mustard off her finger. “Maker, that was good.”

“Delicious.” Sebastian agreed unable to keep his eyes from the way her pink tongue flicked against her fingertip. “I suspect Orana was being modest when she said she could cook ‘a little’.” 

“Indeed. You’re lucky she was here. I would have tossed a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese on a plate and told you to have at it.”

Bodahn came into the dining room. “A letter just arrived for you Messere.” He said handing it to her.

She was tempted to tell him to toss it on the desk with the rest of her correspondence, but sighed and took it instead. She opened and read it with a deepening frown.

“Trouble?” Sebastian asked, noting her worried expression.

“Past deeds catching up with me again. A boy named Feynriel. An apostate I sent to the Circle, but it sounds like they haven’t been able to help him. The note is from his mother, Arianni. She asks that I come by the Alienage and speak with her. This can’t be good.” She muttered, half to herself. 

“They’re elves?”

“His father was human, his mother Dalish. She left her clan to be with him, and he deserted her when she found out she was pregnant. She raised Feynriel on her own, hiding him when she found out he was a mage. But when he started hearing demons she contacted the Templars. Do you know Ser Thrask?”

“Only slightly. He seems a good man.”

“He is. A good man and a good Templar.” She thought briefly of Olivia, Thrask’s mage daughter who had succumbed to demons. Maker willing she could help keep the same thing from happening to Feynriel. “I helped track Feynriel down. He wanted to go to the Dalish and see if they could help him but I thought it was safer for everyone if he went to the Circle. That was, goodness, almost three years ago. I actually got a note from Feynriel a few days ago. I’d meant to answer it, or try to see him at the Gallows, but with everything that’s happened lately I haven’t had a chance.”

“What did his note say?”

“That the voices were getting worse. That he was afraid the Templars would make him tranquil. That he didn’t know why he was writing to me about it.” Her eyes were far away. What if the Templars intended to make him tranquil? Or what if they had already, all because she hadn't bothered to answer his note? “I should go see her. See what's happened.” 

He’d watched the worry on her face. “Would you like to go now?” He offered, immediately rewarded by the gratitude on her face. 

“Yes.” She said. “I think I’d better. But not just us, I think. Could you get Fenris? I’ll send Sandal down for Anders and then we can head to the Alienage together.”

Sebastian frowned “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have Anders meet us in Lowtown?”

She looked confused by the suggestion and then understood. “I’d forgotten you didn’t know. Turns out my ever so proper Hightown mansion has an entrance to the Undercity in the basement. Sub-basement, actually.”

“Is this something the slavers left behind?” He asked.

“Strangely enough, no. Mother had a key to it. Makes you wonder just how proper the Amells really were. In any case, it lets out right near Ander’s clinic.”

He frowned, not liking the idea of that but refusing to analyze the reason too closely. “I’ll go get Fenris.”

 

When he and Fenris returned Sandal was back but there was no sign of Anders.

“Anders is just finishing up with a patient. He’ll be here shortly.” Anabel explained.

“Please don’t tell me that there is an unlocked door from the Undercity to your house.”

“I’m not completely mad. Of course it’s locked. Anders has a key. That way he can come and go when he pleases.” 

Anders had a key to her house. Suddenly Sebastian wondered just how often Anders came up here for breakfast. Having a key and just wandering up whenever he felt like it. Whenever it pleased him. Fenris seemed unsurprised by the news. Was he the only one who hadn’t known? 

“What a surprise. The Circle couldn’t help the boy.” Came a voice from the doorway to the kitchens. Anders was standing there with that ridiculous staff of his.

Hawke scowled at him. “Please don’t start. It was the right decision to make. The last thing Sundermount needed was more demons set loose.”

“Or maybe Marethari would have been able to help him.”

“Or maybe she wouldn’t have and she would have just sent him to Kirkwall the way she did with Merrill.” She retorted. It was an argument they’d repeated countless times. She sighed. “Thank you for agreeing to come along.” Maybe he had been right.

His face softened at her obvious distress. “You know you only have to ask.” He said. “Even when your actions are completely misguided, as they so frequently are.”

Sebastian and Fenris both frowned, but Anabel laughed and crossing to the mage reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Well, at least I know I can depend on you to come along and tell me I’m doing entirely the wrong thing.”

“Always.” He said with a twinkle in his eyes. He looked over at the others. The elf was glaring at him, nothing unusual there, but to his surprise Sebastian was also scowling. Interesting. Brother Sebastian usually hid his dislike better.

 

The rain had finally stopped by the time they left Hawke's mansion. Anders watched Sebastian and Hawke carefully as the group of them made their way to Lowtown. There was something different. They were keeping at least an arm’s length between them. And it wasn’t just Sebastian doing it. He watched as more than once, Hawke started to move closer to the priest, and then deliberately moved away, or started to place a hand on his arm and then pulled it back. Hawke was tactile by nature, she always touched people, and yet she was deliberately not touching the Prince. Had something had happened between them? Had the wonder priest suddenly remembered his vows to Andraste after having conveniently ignored them the past few weeks when the man had constantly seemed to be holding her hand or putting his arms around her?

He was a bigger fool than Anders had thought if vows to a woman dead a thousand years made him reject Hawke. 

Just to test his theory he moved closer to Hawke, chatting amiably with her, taking her arm, putting a guiding hand at her back as they moved through the market. All things Sebastian had been doing for weeks. Hawke didn’t seem to be aware of it, but Prince Charming -- if he were a dragon steam would be coming out of his nostrils. Not as much fun when someone else is doing all the touching, is it, he thought, smirking at the man when Hawke was looking the other way.

They reached the bottom of the stairs to the Alienage and found Arianni standing outside of her home. Her face flooded with relief as they approached. “I was hoping you would come.” She said gratefully. “You did so much for my Feynriel already.”

Hawke gave her a sympathetic smile. “How is he? Have things been difficult for him in the Circle?”

“He’s refused to see me since I contacted the Templars. Ser Thrask brings me news of him. I know he’s chafed at the Circle’s ways that keep the demons from him.”

“Imagine that.” Muttered Anders, ignoring the glare Hawke sent him.

“But they’ve failed.” Arianni said, her voice breaking. “That’s why I wrote you. The demons have taken him. Two days ago he went into a nightmare and he can’t be woken. Ser Thrask tells me he is near death.” 

A wave of guilt flooded through Anabel. This was her fault. “Has no one gone after him? Surely the Circle has mages who can pursue him in the Fade.”

“Why would they bother risking them?” Asked Anders scornfully. “It’s one less mage for them to deal with.”

“I’ve contacted Keeper Marethari.” Said Arianni. “I hoped she might help.”

“And is she able to?” asked Anabel.

“Yes. She’s on her way now and should be here soon. She knows of a ritual, but it requires someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade.”

“And you need me to find this person?” 

Arianni looked taken aback. “I’m asking you to do it.”

Anabel just stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m the last person he’d want to see. I put him in the Circle, for Andraste’s sake! Why would he trust me?”

“Feynriel speaks of you often to Ser Thrask. He knows you acted with integrity, that you did what you thought best. He admires your strength. He speaks of you with great respect.”

“I can’t imagine what good I would do.” Anabel protested. But some small part of her was so curious. To walk the Fade the way Da and Bethany had…the way she might have been able to if Da hadn’t done whatever he did to her. She looked back at Arianni. “What exactly does this ritual entail?”

Sebastian stared at her, appalled. 

“Marethari can tell you better than I." said Arianni. "I know you will need to face down the demons. And I know that you will not be able to return until he does.”

Anabel swallowed at that, but she had no choice. “All right, I’ll do it.” And Sebastian’s heart sank at her words.

Arianni took her hands. “You have been far kinder than I have any right to expect.”

Anabel just smiled and then turned to face her companions.

“Anabel. Perhaps this is something best left to the Circle.” Cautioned Sebastian.

“The Circle’s given up on him.” She reminded him. “They’re just waiting for him to die, or become an abomination so they can kill him.” She looked solemnly at Anders. He knew what she was asking without her needing to say it and just nodded.

Anabel looked relieved. “Will Justice be okay with this?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Honestly, I’ve tried to avoid the Fade since we’ve merged." He admitted. "I worry what a journey there might bring out, but you’ll need someone experienced in the Fade to come with you.” Justice wanted to help Feynriel, he could sense that at least.

She reached over and gave him a brief hug. “Thank you.” She turned to Fenris.

He shifted uncomfortably before saying gruffly. “I have no desire to explore the Fade, but if you need me I will go.”

She gave him a smile, suspecting his willingness to accompany her was tied up in his guilt over his accidentally wounding her, and his gratitude for her helping him with Hadriana, but she was selfish enough to just be glad that he was willing. She turned to share the smile with Sebastian.

His expression was stern. Disapproving. One she had never seen directed at her. “I cannot join you in this, Anabel. The Fade is no place for men of faith.”

She heard Anders snort, and felt herself flush at the implication. She raised her chin defiantly. “I suppose by the standards of the Chantry, I’m probably not a person of faith.” It was probably true. Though she believed in Andraste and the Maker she’d never adhered to the rules of the Chantry, but Sebastian had never made her feel like that made her any less worthy.

He saw the hurt in her eyes and cursed his poor choice of words. “I didn’t mean it like that. But the Fade is no place for people like you and I.”

“You mean people who aren’t mages?” She asked with an arch of her brow, still stinging from his last remark.

He hadn’t. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forgotten… “I didn’t mean…” he began, but she cut him off. 

“Sebastian, I have to do it. I’m the one who sent Feynriel to the Circle, and they’ve failed him. I failed him.” She insisted.

“Anabel.” Why must she always take responsibility for everyone and everything?

“I did.” She said stubbornly. “If my taking part in this ritual can help him, can save him, then I have to do it.”

“We don’t even know what this ritual is! This is magic unsanctioned by the Chantry.” How could she even be considering it?

She actually laughed aloud at that, but it wasn't a happy sound at all. “Is there any magic that is actually sanctioned by the Chantry? Tolerated, yes, but actually approved of? The Dalish were embracing their magic long before the Chantry was even founded. Just because it’s unknown and unsanctioned by the Chantry doesn’t make it evil.”

Sebastian stared at her, his frustration plain. “And thus speaks the apostate’s daughter.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

Anabel stiffened visibly. “Yes. So perhaps we can agree that I might know a little more about magic in general and unsanctioned magic in particular than you, Brother Sebastian.” 

Anders had moved behind Hawke, and now rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, his face clearly showing his pride at her words. He looked at Sebastian with a hint of triumph in his eyes. 

Sebastian somehow resisted the temptation to hit the man, and turned back to Anabel. “You don’t know what might happen to you in the Fade.” There must someway of dissuading her from this path.

“No I don’t. But I know what might happen if I don’t go.” He was genuinely upset, she realized. Genuinely worried about what might happen. Her face softened and she put her hand gently on his arm. “I understand that you can’t do this, Sebastian. But I can’t not do this. It has to be me.” 

Did she think him a coward, then? He pulled his arm free from her. “Is that it? Or is it sheer curiosity on your part?”

She wanted to deny it, but couldn’t help remembering that yes, that had been her first reaction. Her mouth tightened in a mutinous line.

He saw it and pressed the advantage. “This is the same sort of arrogance that brought the magisters to the gates of the Golden City." He insisted. "The same arrogance that blackened it and caused the Maker to turn from his creations. I won’t let you do this.” He warned.

Her eyes flashed angrily. “I don’t recall asking for your permission.” She snapped back.

He stared at her. For the first time since they'd met he was truly angry with her. Furious. He didn’t stop to think how much of it was from fear for her safety. “Fine, then, Serrah Hawke. If my wishes and opinion are of so little value to you, I’ll take my leave of you.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the alienage, ignoring her calling his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The section of the book about Templars is actually from the Dragon Age website. Egadorio Bargawen is an acronym of "Bioware Dragon Age". I spent way too much time rearranging the letters to come up with something that sounded vaguely like a name. 
> 
> For anyone interested in seeing the leather corset Anabel is wearing in this chapter you can find a picture of it on my tumblr 
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	23. Stubborn and Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian waits for Anabel to return from the Fade.

Stubborn woman. Stubborn and reckless. And too trusting by half. 

Sebastian wasn’t even at the steps to Hightown before he began to regret his actions. What if something happened to her?

No. He thought, his stride determined once more. Anabel had made it clear she didn’t need or want his help.

Barely more than a girl, and she thought she was infallible. Thought she could take on anyone. Anything.

Headstrong. Impulsive. Impossible woman. 

Thought she had every answer. Thought she needn’t heed anyone else’s advice. No matter what the danger might be to herself.

He didn’t know why he was even surprised. Why in only the last day she’d gone up against slavers, shades, undead, blood mages and a magister. She’d almost been cut in half for Andraste’s sake. By all means, why not take on a few demons in the Fade?

She hadn’t even hesitated. Hadn’t even considered that his warnings might have some merit. And why would she? His knowledge of the dangers of magic came from the Chantry, and was therefore invalid. It could be dismissed with ease, and hadn’t that made Anders proud, he thought, remembering the look on the mage’s face. Remembering how the man had stood behind her, his hands possessively on her shoulders. The look of triumph he had given Sebastian. That look that said I know more about her, about how she grew up, about what her life was like. I understand her better.

Maybe he did. That didn’t mean he was better for her. It didn’t mean he cared more for her.

He stalked through Hightown and returned to the Chantry. Where he had a place. Where his work and his faith were appreciated rather than sneered at. He had responsibilities. He’d been neglecting his duties to the Chantry. Neglecting them in favor of spending time with Anabel Hawke. Neglecting them for someone who ignored his advice. Who didn’t even want his advice. Someone who counted blood mages and abominations as her companions. Who was oblivious to the danger in doing so. No, not oblivious. Merely unconcerned.

Why did she never think of her own safety? How many times had she put herself in danger, despite warnings from her friends? Why did she have to try and personally fix everything? Why was it always her responsibility? Why could she never leave it to someone else? 

One only saw the beautiful face, the sweet smile, the easy laughter. You didn’t realize it hid what she truly was; reckless and foolhardy. Willful. Obstinate beyond belief.

He changed back into his priest’s robes and stalked to Elthina’s office to redo the work he’d ruined this morning, only to find someone else had already taken care of it. Desperate to keep himself busy, to keep his mind from dwelling on what Anabel might be doing, he completed half a dozen meaningless tasks that could just as easily having been done by a trained monkey. His mood didn’t improve. Without any meaningful work to keep him occupied he was once again unable to stop thinking of her. Perhaps prayer, he thought and headed down to one of the smaller chapels.

 

Hawke woke with a start, and Marethari’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

“All is well, Hawke.” She reassured her.

Anabel could see Anders getting to his feet just over Merethari’s shoulder. His eyes met hers and he gave her a brief smile and nod to let her know he was fine. “The others?” She asked the Keeper anxiously.

“Your companions awoke here some time ago. They have been most anxious for your return.”

Anabel closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Thank Andraste. She’d been afraid that what she’d done in the Fade would be permanent. That she’d come back and find them dead, or mindless. She got to her feet and they all moved into the other room.

Fenris was pacing back and forth, and Isabela was leaning against the wall with a sulky frown on her face. Both of them straightened when they saw her.

“Few can resist the temptations of demons.” Said Marethari softly from where she stood at Hawke’s side.

She knew that. She knew how hard it was. She tried to put aside the betrayal she’d felt when both of them had turned on her in the Fade, and opened her mouth to speak, to joke, to make light of it, but Fenris cut her off. 

“I must apologize for my weakness.” He said, stiffly. “I would have thought myself above such influence.” He sounded both surprised and appalled by what he had done.

That made two of them, she thought and immediately regretted it. That wasn’t fair. Demons. It had been the demons. She tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt false, and she could only pray that Fenris couldn’t see it.

“Does this mean I’m not getting my ship?” Isabela demanded. “Bugger it all!” She flounced out the door, leaving Hawke blinking in surprise. She turned to look at Anders.

He gave her a smile that was only slightly smug. “I find there’s nothing like being possessed to keep you on the straight and narrow.” He joked. 

Fenris gave a snort of disgust and followed Isabela out of the hovel.

Anabel’s smile was beginning to feel shaky. It hadn’t really been Anders who had stayed with her, had it? It had been Justice, of all people. Justice, who had the strength of will to remain by her side in the Fade.

Anders was giving her that concerned healer look. “You sure you’re all right, Hawke?” 

Hawke smiled more broadly, though her cheeks were beginning to ache with the strain of keeping it in place. She said something, something foolish and teasing, to convince him it was no big deal.

The truth she was shaken to the core by what had happened. Not just by her friends’ betrayal but by the Fade itself, by the demons, by the strangeness. By the sloth demon Torpor’s disturbing greeting to her.

 _It’s rare to see so many forgotten magics in one day, and almost unheard of for one like you find her way back to the Fade._

The sloth demon had moved closer as it spoke, seeming almost to sniff her and then it had pulled back and seemed to almost pulse with awareness. 

_I remember you. We had barely a taste and then you vanished._

It had paused and then moved closer still. 

_We felt your loss._

The words had gone over her almost like a caress. As if they’d been pining for her. Longing for her.

_We felt your loss._

She shuddered at the memory.

Justice had cut the demon off then, ordering her to have no dealings with it, and demanding news of Feynriel.

Even Justice had been different she realized, remembering how little of Anders, how little human there had been in him. He’d crackled with that blue white energy, more than she’d ever seen before, barely recognizable, and so bright that even Da’s staff had seemed to glow with it. Had Anders even been aware of what was going on? Had he been there at all? She was afraid to ask him, afraid of the answer she might get.

She needed to leave, to forget about this. Only half aware of what she was saying she told Marethari and Arianni what had happened. That Feynriel was fine and free of the demons, that he was going to Tevinter to learn to master his gift.

She left them, dimly hearing Arianni ask if she could return to the Dalish, and Marethari welcoming her. Anders asked again if she was all right, and she heard her own voice assuring him yes, she was fine, just tired, she was going to head home and soak in a bath and sleep for at least twelve hours, but it was like hearing it underwater. She turned and left him near the Lowtown market, hoping he would let it rest, that he wouldn’t follow her.

She needed to get away from here. Needed something calm and steady and reassuring. Something dependable. Something that wouldn’t change, wouldn’t leave. And then she realized what she needed, who she needed, and she broke into a run halfway up the steps to Hightown. 

 

The bells tolled for the evening service, and Sebastian lifted his head from his prayers, glancing out the window. It was getting dark. He had still heard nothing from Hawke or the others. He should have heard something by now, shouldn’t he? Was time different in the Fade?

Had she returned yet? Had she returned at all, or was she trapped in the Fade, unable to bring that boy back? Or had she been defeated by a demon? Did her body even now lie torn to pieces in that forbidden realm?

She should have listened to him. He should have made her listen.

He’d attend the evening service as he should, and then if he still hadn’t heard anything, he’d go and see if Fenris had returned. See how things had gone. He’d no intention of seeking her out if she was going to ignore his advice so cavalierly. Yes, she had more knowledge of magic than he. That didn’t mean she knew everything. It didn’t mean she wasn’t susceptible.

And then he had a thought so horrifying that he froze in place. She had been born a mage. Did that mean a demon could possess her in the same way? She’d never been taught how to resist them. Never been trained. What if one had tried to control her? What if even now she was an abomination? What if the others had been forced to…

No. She was strong. Stronger than anyone he knew.

Stronger than the demons of the Fade? 

With a muttered curse, he exited the chapel, heading towards his cell.

He should never have left her. If he hadn’t been able to dissuade her from her ridiculous course of action, he should have gone with her. Should have kept her safe. He’d let his temper and his own fears stop him.

He had accused her of being prideful, but he had committed the same sin, had let his own pride keep him from her side. He’d been so angry that she hadn’t heeded his warnings. He’d left her when she needed him. 

He quickly changed into his armor while making his plans. He could skip the evening service, and head straight to her house. He’d speak to Bodahn. Not to her. He was still angry with her. But he’d make certain that she’d returned, and that she was all right.

Not that he needed to. She’d be back by now. Anabel laughed at demons. Gave them ridiculous names. Taunted them. She was fearless. 

Fearless but not invincible. She didn’t always remember that.

He cursed again and grabbing his bow left the cell, striding purposefully down the deserted hallway. The evening service was nearing its end. He quickly rounded a corner, heading in a different direction. He’d go out the side entrance, and avoid the crowds. 

“Why Brother Sebastian. All on your own?”

He looked up to find Mother Petrice standing in a doorway, a mocking smile on her lips.

His jaw clenched. She was the last person that he wanted to see right now. He was in no state of mind for a verbal confrontation with Petrice. He’d seen little enough of her since the incident with Ser Varnell, and he’d been glad of it. He heard rumors about the sermons she was giving down in Lowtown, sermons filled with hatred for the heathen Qunari, promising salvation to all who fought against them, and eternal damnation to any who consorted with them. He’d wanted to warn Elthina about the woman, but he had been unable to dismiss Petrice’s threats quite as easily as Anabel had and so had refrained from doing so. Elthina had put her in charge of the Lowtown Chantry in the hopes that it would keep her busy enough that she would have no time for mischief. He’d thought the decision had been a sound one at the time, but as always Petrice had used it to further her own ambitions.

He looked grimly ahead, not at her. “Is there a reason that I wouldn’t be on my own?” He asked, as he continued walking, not bothering to keep his dislike of her from his voice.

If she was surprised by his tone her carefully composed face didn’t show it. “It’s just so rare to see you free of Serrah Hawke’s leash. You’ve been such a devoted pet of late.” 

Was that truly how he was viewed? As Hawke’s pet? 

No. Petrice was poisonous. Expert at playing on people’s fears, and a master of manipulation. He’d never heeded her venom before, he certainly wasn’t going to start now. “As you say I’m on my own.” He moved resolutely past her.

“Do you think the Grand Cleric believed the tripe you told her about not having fucked Hawke? I couldn’t quite decide.” Her tone was almost casual.

He stopped in his tracks at her words. She had been eavesdropping. Lurking outside of Elthina’s chambers. She was contemptible. How much had she overheard? He slowly turned to face her. Her face was still a serene mask, but there was a hint of venomous satisfaction in her eyes. “There’s no reason not to believe it. It’s the truth.” He said, taking great care to keep his voice smooth. 

Petrice gave him a reproachful look. “Come, Brother. You and I have been in the world. Of the world.” She walked slowly towards him. “Everyone knows the story of the naughty prince. Unlike the Grand Cleric and most of the clergy here, you and I have done things that would make most of them flutter to the ground in a faint at just the suggestion of it. You truly expect me to believe you would have been in such a temper this morning simply because Hawke had denied you cuddles?”

He felt himself flush with anger. She knew nothing of his feelings for Anabel. Nothing of the restraint he had shown. Nothing of how hard he worked to control his desire for her.

She saw the anger and took it to mean she’d been correct. “I thought not. So what was it that frightened the girl off? Did you get a little too rough? Suggest something a bit too depraved? Though from the stories I’ve heard of Hawke’s days in the Red Iron that would have to be depraved indeed.” 

Her mouth curved into a satisfied smile as she watched his hands tighten into fists at his sides.

“Do you always pay heed to Lowtown gossip, Mother Petrice?” He said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice.

She ignored his words. “So was it something else you fought about then? Her handsome apostate perhaps?” She saw the muscle in his jaw clench. Ah. That one struck true. “Has she been paying him too much attention of late? I used to see them together years ago, before she made her fortune and rose to Hightown. Indeed, it was rare to see her without him. There was such fire in his eyes when he watched her. It made me quite envious. So much heat. Such promise of passion. And the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. Even as an observer it was quite stimulating. One got the feeling he could scarcely keep from touching her.”

So it wasn’t just his imagination. Others saw it as well. But Petrice made it sound as if Anabel returned Anders’ feelings. Did she? Had he been wrong about her innocence? Had it been an assumption on his part? He thought of the way Anders touched her. Perhaps she did know those touches were more than mere healing. Perhaps she enjoyed it. Perhaps she invited it. He was unaware of how his face darkened at his thoughts.

Petrice observed him with satisfaction. “One can see his appeal.” She continued as if he had shown no reaction at all. “Young. Handsome. A Grey Warden and an apostate. Young girls do love their bad boys, don’t they? They need to break the rules. Have that taste of the forbidden.” She moved closer to him. “I’ve always heard mages were the most…innovative lovers. I’ve never experienced it myself.” She said, sounding regretful. “I have to say I have been curious. You must know. All the stories one hears of wild Prince Sebastian. You must have tried a mage or two at some point. Have you?” She might have been asking him if he had sampled a new dish at dinner. 

He had actually. A royal visit to the Circle at Starkhaven when he was sixteen. Bored beyond belief he’d grabbed a bottle of wine and snuck away from the banquet in search of livelier entertainment and had found it when he stumbled across two apprentices, a boy and a girl roughly his own age. They’d shared the wine and much more. Innovative didn’t begin to cover it. 

Had Anders shown her such tricks? Had he run those elegant healer’s hands over her body? Shown her tricks with electricity, with heat and cold. He suddenly recalled a carefully controlled grease spell one of the mages had conjured and what use the three of them had put it to. 

He tried to keep his thoughts from his face, but Petrice was watching him carefully. “I suspected as much. So many opportunities available to you as a Prince that the rest of us can only dream about.” She said, with just a hint of envy in her voice. “It must be difficult for an ordinary man to measure up to that.” She moved closer still, circling slowly around him as she spoke. “Do you think she’s missed it while she’s been with you?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper now. “Do you think she’s thought about him when you were together? Do you think you left her wanting?” 

It took every ounce of control to keep from reacting.

Petrice continued talking in that same low town. “They’re a striking couple, of course. I remember thinking it the first time I saw them together. He’s such a handsome man, almost pretty, with that golden hair and that pouty mouth. You can hardly help picturing them together. All that pale skin and gold and fire. Imagine how they would look tangled up together.”

He felt like he was standing in the Harriman’s basement with the desire demon at his side. The woman was foul. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop listening to her.

“He’s large. Almost as large as you. And she’s so small. So delicate. Petite. Like a doll almost. Like a little girl. Do you think they’d pretend she is? It’s strange how many men’s tastes run to children. Do you think they played games? ” She stood in front of him now, and leaned her face close to his, so her cheek almost brushed against his own and her lips were at his ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Does she play the same games with you? Does she call you ‘Daddy’ when you’re together? Does she tell you she’s been bad and ask you to punish her? Do you? Does Daddy punish Anabel when she’s been naughty?”

Before he could stop himself his hand was at her throat and he had her pressed against the wall. “You aren’t fit to speak her name.” He snarled out. His blue eyes were deadly.

She swallowed hard and her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips, before she smiled. “I knew you’d like it rough.” She managed to gasp out. Her eyes were triumphant.

He immediately dropped his hand and stepped back from her. “You’re vile.” Just like that demon, Allure, spewing out her filth. He turned and walked away, wanting to be as far from her as possible.

Petrice raised a shaking hand to her throat, remembering how his hand had felt, and she stared after him, the smile still on her lips. In spite of all their bluster and show, men were such insecure creatures. It was so easy to plant those small seeds of doubt.

It was all coming together. When the issues with the Qunari came to a head she knew what she would do. Both the Viscount and the Arishok turned to Hawke to solve their problems. It was going to be a ludicrously simple matter to place her at the center of things when they finally came to a head. 

As for Sebastian Vael, she wasn’t entirely certain which way he would go. If he were as devoted to the Chantry as he pretended to be he would see the Qunari heresy for the threat that it was and if that were the case it would be easy to bring him to her side. Elthina could be sent off to retire. Sebastian could remain in his position as assistant to the Grand Cleric, and together they could rise to almost unimaginable heights. First in Kirkwall. Eventually in Orlais. With her cunning and his connections, it would be only a matter of time. 

And if he continued playing Hawke’s lapdog? Then he would fall with her. 

 

You fool, Sebastian thought as he stepped out of the Chantry and into the cool night air and the light drizzle of rain that had begun to fall again. He walked quickly to Hawke’s mansion. He’d turned on Anabel, accused her of pride and arrogance and within hours Andraste had shown him someone truly corrupted by those things. He could only hope that Anabel was all right, and that when he found her she would forgive him. 

Bodhan answered the door, but informed him that Messere Hawke had not yet returned home, but did Prince Vael wish to wait for her? Sebastian thanked him but declined the offer and turned from the door, uncertain where to head next. The Hanged Man, and if she weren’t there back to the Alienage? Perhaps on the way he would stop and see if Fenris had returned, see if he knew where she might be.

The rain was coming down harder now, and he pulled up his hood as he walked quickly back towards the Chantry. The plaza was empty but for one small lone figure standing there, her face lifted to the rain, her arms outstretched. “Anabel!” Relief flooded through him as he crossed quickly to her.

She lowered her arms as she turned to him, lifting a hand to wipe the water from her eyes. “Sebastian?" She seemed surprised to see him. "I came to find you but the doors were locked. I thought you were inside. I thought I was too late.”

“I’ve just come from your house. Why are you standing in the rain?” Her hair was plastered to her head, and rivulets of water ran down her face. 

She lifted her face to the sky again. “It feels good. Clean and cool. It feels real.”

Something seemed off. “Are you all right?” He asked.

She looked puzzled by his question. “I’m not certain.” She admitted. “I needed to see you. But the doors…” she repeated helplessly. “I didn’t know what to do. And then it started to rain.” She lifted her face, closing her eyes again.

His brows came together in a frown. This was reminding him too much of when she’d returned from the Deep Roads mourning Carver. She seemed dazed, in shock, almost. What in the Maker’s name had happened? “You couldn’t save the boy?” He asked hazarding a guess.

For a moment she didn’t seem to know who he was talking about. “You mean Feynriel? No. We saved him.” 

“And everyone else is all right?” He asked carefully.

She shuddered then. “Yes.” She started to turn from him. “I’m sorry. I should go. I know you don’t want to see me.” 

Not want to see her? “Anabel…” He started to deny it but she interrupted him.

She’d come to the Chantry with only one goal. To find Sebastian. If she could just keep it together until she reached him it would be all right. She hadn’t examined it any further. Didn’t attempt to figure out just what it was she thought Sebastian would be able to do. She’d just needed to be near him. He was looking at her strangely and she tried to explain. “Everything’s gone topsy-turvy. I just needed to see you. I needed something steady. Someone steady. I’m fine now. I’ll leave you alone.” 

_I remember you_.

“I should go.” She said, wanting to shut out that inhuman voice. 

_We felt your loss._

She balled her hands into fists, feeling her nails cutting into her palms, welcoming the pain because it helped her block out that voice. She felt cold suddenly.

Sebastian watched her with growing concern. She was visibly shaking now, from the cold and wet, or from whatever had happened in the Fade, he couldn’t be sure which. He reached out to take her arm. “Come, I’m taking you home.” 

She jerked away. “No! Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.” The shaking was actually getting worse. “If you touch me I won’t be able to hold together. I’ll shatter.” She insisted. 

He ignored her and reached out and gathered her close, paying no heed to her pleas not to. She resisted at first, but once he had drawn her close she sank against him with a small whimper. He tightened his arms around her and stroked her dripping hair back from her face. “It’s all right now.” He murmured in a soft voice. “Let’s go home.” 

She didn’t resist this time, indeed she was clinging to him her face buried against his chest, and he kept his arms around her as he walked her slowly back to her house. For once blessing the fact that she didn’t lock her door, he pushed it open, calling for Bodahn. The dwarf appeared, and to his credit didn’t appear alarmed, or ask unnecessary questions.

“Is there a fire in the library?” Sebastian asked as he unfastened Anabel’s soaking wet coat.

“Of course, Your Highness.” 

“We’ll be in there. Could you bring some brandy, and some towels?” He tossed her coat on the bench in the entry, and slipped off his own, dropping his weapons as well.

He steered Anabel towards the library and settled her in one of the armchairs by the fire, reaching out and slipping off her boots, and the wet socks beneath them.

Bodahn returned bearing a tray with a bottle of brandy and two glasses as well as some towels. He poured some in a glass and handed it to Sebastian, before retreating and closing the door behind him. Sebastian lifted the glass to Anabel’s lips. “Drink.” He ordered. 

She took a swallow, and then another before pulling her head away. He watched some of the color come back to her cheeks. “Better?” he asked.

She nodded, and he took one of the towels and used it to squeeze the excess water from her hair. 

She watched silently as he did so. He caught her look and gave her a smile and the darkness seemed to pull back a little. 

“You said you’d come from here.” She remembered.

“Yes.” He said tossing the towel on the tray and pulled over the ottoman so he could sit beside her.

“Why?” He’d been so angry when he’d stormed off.

“I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior.” 

She looked embarrassed. “You don’t need to. Do me a favor though?”

“Of course.” He said automatically.

“The next time I want to go into the Fade just hit me over the head with something, hard and drag me away. Because that was a really, really bad idea.” She tried to make light of it but her eyes looked haunted again, and she suddenly seemed close to tears. “I’m sorry.” She said apologetically. “I don’t mean to be so feeble.”

He reached up and stroked her cheek gently before letting his hand fall back to his side. “Tell me what happened.”

She took a deep breath. “You were right. Oh Maker, you were right. I should have listened to you.” She was quiet for a moment before saying softly. “They turned on me. I didn’t think … I didn’t expect that. Even in a dream. Even tempted by demons.”

Had Anders? “Who turned on you?” He asked.

“Fenris and Isabela.” She took a shuddering breath. “It was frightening. And it hurts. I know it’s not fair of me to feel that, and I’m sure I’ll get over it, but right now it hurts. I couldn’t even speak to them after we got back. They ran off.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, Sebastian it was awful. Every time we turned around there was another demon making promises or threats and the whole thing was so...the whole place is just off somehow. Do you know how in dreams a place is familiar, but you’ll find yourself at a door or a window or in a room that you know doesn’t exist? That’s how the Fade is. Everything looks vaguely familiar, but wrong somehow. I don’t know how mages do it. Go in there and remember. How they cope.”

“Tell me what happened with Fenris and Isabela. How did Isabela even end up with you?” 

“After you left we went to the Hanged Man looking for Varric. He wasn’t there, but Isabela was. She thought romping through dreams sounded like an adventure.” She shook her head. “I think she was drunk actually. Or not quite sober from last night. I didn’t see the harm in bringing her along. I thought she’d be a match for the demons. That if she was drunk it would just confuse them.” She shook her head in disbelief. “How could I be so arrogant?”

He had to admit that bringing Isabela wouldn’t have been his first choice, but if Varric hadn’t been there her other option would have been Merrill. He could see how Isabela would have been preferable to bringing a blood mage who dealt with demons. “She and Fenris gave into the demons?” He asked Anabel.

“Yes.” She was staring off in the distance now. “I thought I could handle it – them. I thought they’d be like the other demons I’ve encountered. But they weren’t. They’re different there, in the Fade. They’re…I don’t know. They’re more somehow.” She looked at him, trying to think of a way to explain it. “It’s as if you’d only seen something in a reflection. As if you were kneeling by a lake and you see a bear behind you, reflected in the water, and you think, oh yes, that’s a bear, I recognize that, that’s as frightening and powerful as it gets, and then you turn around and suddenly it’s real, it’s not just a reflection, it has claws and teeth and you can smell it, and feel its breath hot on your skin. The demons in the Fade are so much more than they are here.” 

He thought of Allure, and tried to imagine something more. “Oh, Anabel.”

“It was a desire demon that got Isabela – of course.” She said with a wry smile. “All it took was the promise of a ship and a crew of handsome young men, and of course the desire demon waiting in her cabin for her.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“And Fenris?”

“A pride demon offering to make him a magister.”

“Fenris succumbed to that?” Sebastian asked with surprise.

“It offered him a way to best Danarius and any mage that might come after him. He didn’t want to, I could tell, but the demon offered him the one thing that would make him do it: to be forever free of the threat of the magisters.”

“So you had to fight them on your own?”

“Justice was there. He fought with me.”

He realized what she’d said. “Justice? Not Anders?”

“Apparently Justice tends take control in the Fade.” She admitted.

He knew it. He knew Anders was dangerous. He knew he didn’t have control over that demon.

As if she knew what he was thinking she added. “If he hadn’t been there I don’t think I would have made it back. He helped me.”

From what he was learning of this spirit he didn’t think he and Anders were nearly as integrated as Anders claimed. But that was a discussion for another day.

“And when you defeated Fenris and Isabela, they returned to your side?”

She turned to look at him and her eyes were huge in her face. “I had to kill them. I had to slit Isabela’s throat and stab Fenris through the chest. I had to see their faces and watch the light disappear from their eyes. And then they disappeared. It wasn't until we left the Fade that I knew for certain I hadn't actually killed them.” Her voice was shaky and as he stared at her in horror, knowing what that must have cost her. Tears began to trail down her face, and he didn’t even think, just reached up and pulled her into his lap, holding her securely. She slid her arms around his neck and buried her face and clung to him for a moment.

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured into her hair. 

“They knew me.” She muttered against his throat. “They said they remembered me.”

He pulled his head back and looked at her. “Who said?”

“One of the demons. Torpor. He said it had been a long time since someone like me found their way back. That they had known me but then I’d disappeared. That they felt my loss.”

He saw the fear in her eyes and gently stroked her hair back from her face. “A very wise young woman once told me something about demons. That the demons could find your deepest darkest fears and longings and dangle them in front of you. Torment you with them. But that something would seem wrong about it.” 

“Everything felt wrong there.” She admitted. “Do you think he was lying?” She asked hopefully.

“Demons lie, or so I’ve been told.” He pulled her close again so she rested against his chest. The demons remembered her. If he had to tie her up to prevent it he would never let her near the Fade again. 

They sat there like that for a few moments. 

“Do you know what I hated most about today?” She pulled back her head to look at him. “Fighting with you.” 

He smiled at her. “We’ve never fought before.” He commented. “I lost my temper with you.”

“I didn’t know you had a temper to lose.” 

“I’ve a terrible temper actually. I’ve just learned to keep it under control.” 

“Until you met me?”

He opened his mouth to deny it and saw the twinkle in her eyes and realized she was teasing. “I am so sorry about everything, Anabel. I should have been there with you. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me.”

“It was a surprise to see you angry. But I have seen you angry before, you know. The very first time I saw you.”

He looked confused. “That day in the Chantry? But I wasn’t angry then.”

Her lips curved and he saw just a shadow of her dimple. “That was the first day you saw me. The first time I saw you was in front of the Chantry, the day you left your post on the Chanter’s Board.”

“Oh, my.” He was still ashamed of his behavior that day. “I’m sorry that was your first glimpse of me.” She had been there and he hadn’t even noticed.

“You were very exciting. The handsome prince with fire in his eyes. You quite took my breath away.” 

“I’m lucky I didn’t injure Elthina. It was stupidly reckless.” They sat in silence for a moment. Unable to resist she put her head back on his shoulder. After a moment he rested his head on top of hers. His hand found hers and their fingers intertwined and his thumb lightly stroked the back of her hand. 

She watched the movement, feeling entirely at peace for the first time that day. “We’re very bad at this no touching thing aren’t we?” she asked softly.

He gave a short laugh. “Apparently we are.”

She didn’t pull away, instead burrowing in closer to him. His arm tightened around her. 

After a moment she spoke. “I’m sorry I’m such a feeble mess. How is it you’re the only person I fall to pieces around? Everyone else I can bluster through and just pretend it doesn’t matter. With you I turn into a big weepy insecure mess of a girl. I’m not certain if you should be honored or appalled.”

“Honored.” He assured her. “I’m honored by the trust you place in me.” He should have been with her. “I’ll be more worthy of it from now on. And as for the touching, well, we can try again tomorrow.” Maker only knew if it would work.

They sat in silence again both of them savoring the shared touches while they could.

Eventually she pulled away. “I should get some rest. I’m supposed to be going out to the mines in the morning to check up on the workers. I think Hubert is trying to screw them over again. And I want to make sure those dragons haven’t come back. And from what I can piece together, I think one of Tarohne’s books might be up there. But before I do I should check and make sure that Isabela and Fenris are all right. I think both of them might have been more shaken by everything that happened then they let on.” She got to her feet, rattling things off as if it were a list for the market. She pushed her hair out of her face and turned to look up at him. He was staring at her with a strange smile on his face. “What?”

“You are a marvel Anabel Hawke.” He said, his admiration plain.

“No.” She denied, looking embarrassed by the compliment.

“Most people would go to bed for a week after the day you’ve had. The things you do.” He stood and looked down at her. ”Do you have no fear at all?” 

She scoffed. “I think the last hour has proved beyond a doubt I’ve plenty of fear. I just…” She paused struggling to find the right words. “It’s as if there is this darkness pressing in on Kirkwall. I’m just doing what I can to push back against it.”

Once again she had stunned him. So simply put. “You do the Maker’s work, Anabel.”

She flushed. “It’s not like I plan it. I just seem to stumble into these situations. People who need help. I can’t ignore it if it’s within my power to help. That’s all.” She said with a helpless shrug.

That’s all she said. She looked so fragile standing there, her damp curls framing her face, her feet bare, looking up at him with such sincerity. There were shadows under her eyes, clearly visible beneath that pale skin. She needed to take better care of herself.

“I have a better idea.” He said. “Take a day off. Spend it with me. Just a lazy day shared with a friend. We’ll go to that Antivan place for lunch. Wander the market. Visit the booksellers. No obligations. No jobs. No ‘just let me check on this’. A selfish day. A day just for you.”

“I can’t even imagine it.” She thought about it. “It sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll come get you after morning service. No armor for either of us. And no weapons.”

She raised a dubious eyebrow. 

“No obvious weapons.” He conceded.

She agreed, and walked him to the door.

He looked down at her and reached out, trailing his fingertips along the side of her face. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

She nodded, and closed the door after him, more confused than ever by their relationship.

“He’s right you know. You deserve a day off.” She looked up and found Anders standing at the doorway to the main room.

“I think we all do.” She said after a moment.

He didn’t comment.

“What are you doing here?” He must have come up through the basement. She didn't think he'd ever done that at night before. She wondered how long he had been there.

“I wanted to check on you. I should have known Brother Sebastian would be tending to you.”

She couldn’t think what to say.

“Are you in love with him?” 

She didn’t answer right away. “Yes.” She finally admitted.

She couldn’t help but see the flash of pain in his eyes. “Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very happy.” He turned, heading towards the basement door. 

“He doesn’t want me. He wants to retake his vows.” She said softly.

Anders turned slowly back to her. “He wants to stay a priest.” He clarified, wanting to be sure he’d heard her properly.

“Yes.” She’d never said it out loud before. She had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

Anders saw the tears she had to blink back. “He’s a bigger fool than I thought.”

She didn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. He was, for her at least. He certainly knew what it was like to be unable to be with the one you loved.

She seemed to shake herself. “Yes, well. It is what it is.” She wished that phrase would stop popping into her head. “Come. Let’s get out of the entry.” She led him back to the library. “I never said yesterday; I’m sorry about the whole smiting thing. Da told me how awful it felt.”

“Do you know how you did it?” he asked.

She laughed. “Terror, worry and complete panic. I couldn’t reach her. I thought Fenris was going to die. I wanted to stop her and suddenly it was just there. I never realized a smite was quite so thorough.”

“It usually isn’t.” Anders admitted. “I’ve never felt one like that, and I’ve felt plenty.”

“I can see how it might come in handy. I just wish there were a way to practice it. I suppose as a last resort I could run up to Sundermount and see what I might come across that needed smiting, but it seems like a lot of bother right now. I must be tired.” She looked up at him. “I don’t imagine you’d like to volunteer for target practice?" She asked with a teasing smile.

“Definitely not.”

“I thought not. So we’ll leave it be for now. I spent some time in the Chantry library today reading about Templars. Trying to figure out more about these things I can do.” She shook her head. "It still seems so strange. A natural born Templar. But it got me wondering. How do you think the first Templars came about? How do you discover you can just do that? I mean the Templars and the Chantry would probably say prayer and gifts of the Maker and so on. What if it happened just the way it did to me?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” He said. only half listening, still thinking about her admission that she loved Sebastian.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. For sticking by me today. You and Justice. I don’t know what I would have done if you had turned on me as well. But you never do. In spite of all our disagreements. So thank you for that.” She gave him a curious look. “Can I ask you something? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Go ahead.”

“What was it like for you in the Fade? Were you aware of what was going on?”

The smile disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” She started to say.

“No. It’s all right. Yes, I was aware of what was going on, but I couldn’t do anything. I told you I tried to avoid Fade since we merged. I don’t like being a passenger in my own skin. That’s what I must be like for Justice. He’s as much a prisoner here, shackled to my every decision.”

“We got quite chummy there for a while. If you ever need someone to mediate between the two of you, just let me know.” 

“He was pleased with how you handled the demons.” 

A shadow crossed her face. “Do you think what Torpor said was true? Do you think they remembered me?”

The way she glowed? He couldn’t imagine them forgetting her if they’d felt her even once. “I doubt it, Hawke. Remember, demons aren’t particularly attached to the truth.” The relief that came over her face was justification enough for the lie. He certainly wasn’t going to let her anywhere near the Fade again. “I’ll let you get some rest."

Her face suddenly lit up. “Hold on. I got you a present.” She ran over to the desk and pulled open a drawer.

“A present?” He sounded suspicious.

“Yes. It’s shiny and subversive.”

“I hardly think I’ve done anything to deserve a present. Is there some Free Marchers holiday I’m not aware of?”

“Don’t be silly. Hold out your hand.”

He did, and she dropped something into it. He held it up and looked at it. An amulet? He peered more closely. “Is it…” His mouth dropped open and he looked at her in horror. “That’s a Tevinter Chantry amulet. Do you want me to get executed? It’s sacrilege to wear those in any land under the Divine.”

She just grinned. “And here I thought you fight for mages rights, whoever’s bad side that puts you on. The Divine condemned the Tevinter Chantry because it freed mages from the Circle.” She reminded him. “It’s a reminder for you. It can be done.”

She believed in his cause. He sometimes forgot that. “I like it. Maybe not on the outside of my clothes. I’m not quite that eager to face the hangman’s noose. But I appreciate the thought.” He said with a smile.

She seemed pleased by his reaction. “You’d said you needed my help with something the other day. Do you still?”

He nodded. He could ask this of her now with no reservations. “Yes. But take your day off.”

“I can come by the clinic the day after.” She offered.

“Yes.”

“Will we need anyone else?”

“Not the Grand Cleric’s golden boy, if that’s all right. It’s not going to be easy, what I’m going to ask.”

“Isabela and Fenris?” She suggested. “I could put their guilt to good use.”

Isabela certainly would know her way around smuggler tunnels. He was less sure about Fenris, but if they found proof of Alrik’s plans maybe the mage-hating bastard would be more inclined to see the truth of the injustice of how mages were treated in Thedas. “Yes, they’ll do.” 

She walked him to the basement door, and retreated upstairs wondering if she would be able to sleep. 

_We felt your loss._

She whistled for Boy to join her. It couldn’t hurt to let him sleep in the bed for one night, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that non-mage Hawkes were awfully blasé about the visit to the Fade. Anabel doesn't handle it nearly as well, poor thing.
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	24. A Day Free of Obligations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has her day off with Sebastian and learns the answer to a question.

Sebastian saw her just as he was finishing the chanted blessing at the end of the service the next morning. She had slipped back the hood of her cloak just as the sun came out from behind a cloud and streamed through the window, suddenly illuminating that bright hair, so that she seemed to almost glow in the dim light of the Chantry. For the first time in the dozen or so years he’d been doing this he missed the cue for his response. It was only the small curve of her smile that brought him back to what he was supposed to be doing, and he quickly sang the next line. 

Anabel was at a Chantry service. It wasn’t unheard of. On Holy Days she would sometimes accompany Leandra, but he’d never seen her at a service on her own, and certainly never the early morning service.

He looked over at her, her head now bent over the prayer book in her hand. She wore her hair up in a complicated braided style that was more elaborate than her usual careless braid or bun, though as always a stray curl was already brushing against her cheek. The mass of hair looked almost too heavy for her neck to support. He drank in her appearance, continuing with the chant, though he scarcely gave it the attention it deserved. She moved slightly, and her green cloak parted, revealing a deep red dress beneath, cinched in at the waist with an embroidered brocade corset that hugged her slender form. As if she could sense him looking, she glanced up and smiled again, a smile so warm and filled with affection that it almost took his breath away. Still, after more than three years.

As soon as he’d finished the blessing, and the crowd began to thin out he walked over to her. She looked even more beautiful up close. 

“I surprised you.” She said before he could speak. She couldn’t keep the mischievous smile from her face. He was so poised and put together all the time. It was fun to see him flustered.

“You did. Almost thirteen years in the Chantry and for the first time I flubbed it. You look lovely.” 

“I’m wearing a dress.” She pointed out, as if he wouldn’t have noticed. “I’m taking you at your word, you see, wandering around like any other Hightown resident.”

“So I see.” He said with a smile. “I like your hair like that.”

One hand rose to touch it. “That’s Orana’s doing actually. I stuck my head out to see if she could help lace me up and she seemed so excited by the idea I was dressing like a lady and spending the day with you instead of running about stabbing things that the next thing I knew she was doing my hair as well. She’s rapidly making herself indispensable. Strangely enough she seems to fit right in with the rest of my odd household. Leandra's worrying what the neighbors will think. ‘A Tevinter slave, Anabel? What will people say?’ I keep having to remind her that Orana’s not a slave any longer, I am paying her.”

He couldn't help smiling at her chatter. She seemed to have recovered from her experiences yesterday. “I’m glad she’s found a place with you. So what are you doing at morning service? Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up at your house?” 

“I was passing by and heard the bells. I thought I’d come and see what all the fuss is about. I’d no idea you’d be leading the Chant, or that my being here would distract you.”

“In a good way.” He assured her. She didn't realize that he was always distracted when she was near.

She smiled almost shyly. “You have a beautiful voice. I’ve meant to tell you that for a while.”

“Coming from you that is a compliment.”

She scoffed at the idea. “Me? No, I just warble for fun. I do enjoy it though, especially the songs that make Leandra cringe.” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “You must know all sorts of filthy songs from your misspent youth.” She said eagerly.

“I do, and I’m not teaching you any of them.” He said firmly, thinking of the song he’d walked in on her singing the other day when he’d come by her house. He was convinced she didn’t know what half of it meant. “You still haven’t said why you were passing by.” He reminded her. 

“I went to see Fenris. I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

He wasn’t really surprised that she had. He had visited Fenris himself after he’d left Anabel’s, knowing he’d need a friend, and while he was sure Fenris had appreciated it, Sebastian was glad she’d gone by. When he’d spoken to him, Fenris had seemed convinced that after he’d injured her, after the events in the Holding Caves, and now this betrayal in the Fade that Anabel would want nothing to do with him. He’d talked of leaving, saying it was time he moved on. Sebastian had tried to reassure him, and had succeeded to a certain extent, but he was sure that nothing he had said would had been as convincing as Anabel showing up at his door first thing in this morning. “Everything’s well between you?”

“Yes. I told him everyone gets one free demonic possession before I hold it against them.” Her voice was teasing but the satisfied look in her eyes told him that their conversation had gone well.

“That seems quite fair.” He said watching her with a warm smile on his face. “However, we did say this was going to be a day free of obligations.” 

“You should know how bad I am at following orders. And Fenris isn’t an obligation, he’s a friend. I was worried about him. Besides," she said, looking up at him. "The day off doesn’t officially begin until you’re with me.” 

Andraste help him if Anabel ever realized the effect that a look from those blue green eyes had on him. “Then I’d best go change, and we can be on our way.” He replied.

She watched him walk away with a smile on her face, thinking how handsome he looked in his priest’s robes. Probably an inappropriate thought to have, but entirely true. She glanced over at the statue of Andraste, trying to resist the urge she had to stick her tongue out at it. Maker. She was never going to grow up, was she?

“Ah. So this is why Brother Sebastian botched the blessing.” 

She turned to see Brother Plinth walking up to her. "Good Morning, Brother Plinth. How are you today?"

The archivist looked her over, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “Yes. Very distracting. I understand now.” 

“I’m afraid I gave Sebastian a bit of a shock showing up so unexpectedly.” She commented. 

“We don’t often see you here for services, do we?” 

“I’m afraid not.” She said apologetically. “My mother says I’m halfway to a heathen.” 

“Nonsense. It’s not the frequency of attending services which makes you a good Andrastean. It’s how much you take with you once you walk through those doors.” He changed the subject. “Are you heading back to the library today?”

“Actually Brother Sebastian’s ordered me to take the day off. We’re going to go out and have a day free from all obligations.”

Brother Plinth raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “That sounds like quite the achievement, but well deserved if half the stories I hear about you are true. How did your studies go after I left you yesterday?” He asked.

She sighed, remembering. “Frustratingly.” She admitted. “I hadn’t realized quite how much I didn’t know about the subject.” She’d been quite lost as to where to even start before Brother Plinth had found her and steered her to the right bookcases, and suggested several volumes to get her started.

“Well, if you’ve realized that you’re a better scholar than most of the fools we get in here. Don’t be discouraged. You may not find the information you seek right away. Just remember _Et ipsa scientia potestas est_.” At her blank stare he translated. “’Knowledge itself is power’. Even if it’s not the knowledge you were looking for.”

She frowned. “That wouldn’t be Ancient Tevene, would it?”

“It would indeed. A sadly neglected subject these days.”

“But you know it?” She asked eagerly.

He looked surprised that she would think otherwise. “Indeed. I couldn’t do my job without it.”

Her heart began to race. Should she ask him? Yes, he was part of the Chantry, but he was fond enough of her and eccentric enough that she didn’t think he would be bothered if the word had something to do with magic or mages, and though he might have questions, she didn’t think he was the sort to go tattling to Templars. She decided to risk it. “Have you ever heard the word _arcebatur_?”

“ _Arcebatur_.” He seemed to consider it. “No, I don’t think so.” He said finally.

“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment.

He seemed lost in thought. “Where did you run across it?” He asked.

“Something a blood mage I encountered a few days ago said.” She said keeping her voice nonchalant.

“So many blood mages lately.” The archivist commented with a small shudder. “I can’t say the Knight Commander is doing a very good job keeping them under control. There seem to be more in Kirkwall each year.”

“This particular one was From Tevinter, actually.”

“Well that would explain the Tevene. The Imperium clings to their traditions like few other kingdoms. ' _The Imperium is little more than a dilapidated old slattern, crouching in the far north of Thedas, drunkenly cursing at passersby to recall her faded beauty_.' Brother Genetivi, _The Pursuit of Knowledge_. The man has a turn of phrase. Useless as far as anything more than the most basic information, but he has a gift with language.” He gave her an appraising look. “A Tevinter blood mage. You do encounter the most interesting people, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Far more interesting than I’d like lately.”

“ _Arcebatur_.” He repeated. “No, I’ve never come across it.”

She tried to hide her frustration. Another dead end.

“It’s a strange use of the verb, I have to say.” Brother Plinth added.

“Use of the verb?” She asked, not understanding.

“The verb _arcere_. That would be the root of it I think.” He said thoughtfully.

Her heart started pounding. “And what does _arcere_ mean?”

“Let’s see what kind of a classical education those Starkhaven royals gave your young man, shall we?” Brother Plinth said, looking over her shoulder. 

She turned to see Sebastian returning, dressed in neither priest's robes, nor armor, but dark trousers and boots, and a dark blue doublet with his cloak thrown over his arm. Her eyes went over him hungrily. Maker. Men weren't supposed to be that beautiful, were they?

"Brother Sebastian." Brother Plinth called out. "We’re going to test your knowledge: the verb _arcere_. How would you translate it?”

Sebastian looked from Anabel to the archivist, obviously confused. “Brother Plinth, it’s been years since I’ve studied Ancient Tevene.” He protested.

“ _Arcere_.” Brother Plinth repeated sternly.

“I honestly don’t remember, Brother.” 

Brother Plinth frowned disapprovingly. “Well, let’s see if we can jog your memory. Conjugate it please.”

Anabel couldn’t help hiding a smile. There weren’t many who treated Sebastian as a boy just out of, or rather still in, the schoolroom.

Feeling slightly foolish, Sebastian complied. “ _Arceo, arces, arcet, arcemus, arcetis, arcent_.” By the time he had finished it had begun to sound familiar. “To hinder?” 

Brother Plinth looked pleased. “Very good. To hinder. So if I were to ask you what the imperfect passive indicative of the verb might mean? He looked at Sebastian expectantly.

Oh Maker. He strained to remember. “He is hindered?” He said hazarding a guess.

“One who is hindered, or the hindered one might be more correct. And the Ancient Tevene for that would be?” At Sebastian’s helpless look he reprimanded him. “Come, Sebastian. I know your parents spent good coin on tutors for such things. Imperfect passive indicative. Conjugate it.

Sebastian felt as if he were back in the schoolroom. He glanced at Anabel whose smile had disappeared. Her eyes seemed huge in her face, and he wondered why. “ _Arcebar_.” He began to recite. “ _Arcebaris. Arce_ …” His voice trailed off and he looked over at Anabel, understanding now. “ _Arcebatur_ …” 

“Very good.” Said the Archivist, before turning to Anabel. “There you go, young Hawke. It has other meanings as well: to prevent, to separate, to cut off, to confine. Even to protect. As I said, I’ve never heard it used in that form, so we’re probably missing some nuance of language that’s been lost over time. One who has been hindered. No doubt that blood mage was complaining about your foiling their plans.”

“Yes. That must have been it.” Anabel murmured, her mind reeling. “Thank you Brother Plinth. Once again you’ve been very helpful.” 

“Not at all, my dear.” He looked from one to the other. They were staring at each other and seemed to have forgotten he was there. Ah, young love. “Well. I’ll let you both get on with your day off. Sounds like a marvelous idea. I may do it myself one of these days.” He wandered away.

Sebastian stepped closer to her. “Are you all right?” He asked gently.

“The hindered one.” She said. “The separated one.” She said it as if she was trying familiarize herself with the words. She looked up at him with those remarkable eyes. “Da truly did it.”

“Yes.” Brother Plinth’s translation left little doubt. 

“How on Thedas could he have found such a spell?” 

“We may never know the answer to that.” She was staring straight ahead now and seemed lost in thought. “Anabel.” He said softly and she turned her head to look at him. “It also means ‘the protected one‘. “ He reminded her.

She gave him a small smile. “I know. He did it to keep me safe, and I’m all right.” She sighed though. “I just don’t know where to go from here. How to find out more. Other than taking a trip to Tevinter, and somehow after the other day, that doesn’t appeal in the slightest.” She kept her tone light, but her mind was spinning. If it was a Tevinter spell was there a way to reverse it? Was that even something she wanted? And why had the red lyrium given her the abilities of a Templar rather than restoring the abilities she might have had as a mage? 

“Anabel.” He was getting worried now.

“I’m fine.” She said absently. She glanced up at him and saw he was frowning, and smiled at him, a genuine smile this time. “Truly, I am. It actually feels good to have it confirmed. In spite of how improbable it sounds, Da stopped me being a mage.” 

The implications were quite staggering actually, more so than Anabel probably realized. What would the Chantry and the Templars do if such a spell were rediscovered. “He must have been very talented.” He said. Very powerful, Sebastian thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

She smiled happily, taking it as a compliment. “He was. I wish you could have met him.” She said wistfully. They would have gotten along with each other, she thought. “But enough about all of this. I was promised a day off, with no obligations or worries. Where shall we go first?” 

 

It was late afternoon before Varric finally managed to escape the Dwarven Merchants’ Guild. He was going to have to come up with someone else to take over the family business, he decided. Elmand sounded like a good name. He could be a cousin. A shy cousin, who didn’t get out much. At least then Varric wouldn’t have to deal with those treacherous bastards face to face.

He was almost to Lowtown when he spotted Hawke and Choir Boy sitting outside at one of the cafes near Hightown, looking at each other as if there were no one else in the world, in spite of the crowds in the street, and at the tables around them. He stopped and watched them. Hawke was talking, of course, and with Hawke talking involved her whole body. The girl really couldn’t stay still. And Choir Boy was looking at her as if she were Andraste herself come back to Thedas, following every movement she made, and not just with his eyes. If she bent forward, his head moved forward as well. When she leaned back, the same thing. It was an almost an imperceptible movement, but it was there if you looked. It was as if the space between them had to be kept at a constant. As if Sebastian couldn’t bear it if she were to move away from him, as if he might miss something, or suffer if the space between them increased. It was subtle. You probably wouldn’t even notice it unless you looked carefully. Varric probably wouldn’t have noticed himself, if he hadn’t once looked at a woman in exactly the same way. As if they were your whole world. As if they were your sun, your center and you had to stay in orbit or you’d wither and fade away. 

He had intended to go over and speak to them, but decided instead to leave them to each other. Maybe if they spent some time alone they’d finally come to their senses. He watched them for a moment longer. Utterly absorbed in each other, not touching, but the looks they were giving each other left little doubt as to their feelings.

He shook his head. Idiots, the both of them. Isabela had started talking about locking them in a room together and not letting them out until somebody screamed out 'Oh Maker, I’m coming!', and he was beginning to agree with her. He turned and left them, continuing on to Lowtown and the Hanged Man, and a well-earned pint.

Anabel paused in midst of her story and tilted her head, looking past Sebastian. He turned around to see what she was looking at, but didn’t see anything. “What is it?” He asked.

“I thought I saw Varric.” She said with a small frown, before turning back to him with a smile. “Never mind. What was I saying?”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “You were telling me about the time you stole Old Man Barlin’s scarecrow.” She looked completely and utterly relaxed. They’d spent the morning wandering through the market. They’d shared a paper cone of roasted chestnuts, burning their fingers peeling them, as they’d perused the various wares. He’d bought her half a dozen new hair ribbons, and Sam at the flower stand had insisted on giving her a perfect red rose that Sebastian had carefully pinned in her hair. They’d gone on to various book sellers and Sebastian had realized just how deep her passion for books truly ran. He’d lost track of how many volumes she’d purchased and arranged to have delivered to her home. She’d surprised him with a beautifully bound and illustrated copy of the Canticle of Benedictions, small enough to fit in a pocket, but chosen, he suspected for the craftsmanship and the beauty of the book, rather than the content. 

It had been well past noon when they’d finally made it here for lunch, and they’d lingered on long after they'd finished the meal. The proprietor didn’t seem to mind their staying, though that might have had more to do with the coins Anabel had slipped him rather than any benevolence on the man’s part. Sebastian was more than content to just sit here, watching her and listening to her talk. The temperature had warmed as the day had gone on and she’d slipped off her cloak as they sat there in the afternoon sunlight. She shouldn’t be able to wear red with those flame colored curls, but the color looked wonderful on her. She’d tilted the chair she was sitting on towards him so it balanced on the two front legs, leaning her elbows on the table in front of her. A smile curved her lips.

Had she really been telling him about that? “I’ve been rambling, haven’t I? It must seem ridiculously unimportant.” She said feeling a little foolish.

“Nothing you tell me could be that.” He enjoyed hearing tales of her childhood. 

Her heart gave that funny skip again. “You tell me something, instead.”

His face grew serious. “I’m going to go to Tantervale next week.”

“For the Grand Cleric?” She asked, pressing her finger into the crumbs left from the pastry she’d finished earlier and licking them from her fingertips. Her voice was unconcerned. He occasionally traveled on business for Elthina.

“No. I’m going to meet with a man named Lord Alaric Maclaren. He’s from Starkhaven. He was one of my father’s advisors, and a friend of my grandfather’s. He sent me a letter a few weeks ago.” He'd made the decision last night, and sent a messenger off first thing this morning.

Her chair went back on all four legs with a thud. She straightened up, staring at him. The relaxed expression was gone and he silently cursed himself for not having waited with this news.

“This is someone you trust?” She asked cautiously. Would he be safe, or was he walking into a trap? 

“Yes. His family has served the Vaels for generations. He was my grandfather’s squire when he was a boy. My grandfather spoke very highly of him.”

And Lady Harimann had been a friend of his mother’s. “Do you know what he wants to meet with you about?” She asked with a frown.

“The future of Starkhaven, his letter said. I think, like most, he’s wondering what my intentions are. Wondering if I’ve changed from when I was at court. He knows that I’m no longer a brother.” 

A small wrinkle had appeared between her brows. “Are you still considering retaking the throne, then?” she asked cautiously. He’d said he wanted to retake his vows. Did this trip mean something else?

He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.” He finally said, answering her honestly. “But I want to meet with him. Find out how things truly are in Starkhaven. Find out if my return would even be welcomed.” He wasn’t quite ready to admit that a part of him wanted to find out what his options might be if he didn’t renew his vows. What kind of a life he might be able to offer Anabel if…. No. He wouldn’t get ahead of himself. Part of him couldn’t believe he was even considering risking it, risking her, but after the emotional turmoil of the last few days he wasn’t certain if he could do without her. He hadn’t spoken of it to anyone else. Not Elthina, and certainly not Anabel herself. Not yet. He’d meet with Lord Alaric and find out what the man had to say before he let his thoughts go any further.

“I can’t believe you let me prattle on about Old Man Barlin’s scarecrow when you had news like this.” She said. She’d only just resigned herself to his retaking his vows. She wasn’t going to let herself start hoping that this might mean anything else.

“I’m not sure it will even come to anything.” He said cautiously. 

“You’re sure you’ll be safe?” She asked.

“I think so. I’m well known enough in Tantervale that it shouldn’t be an issue.”

She looked so worried that he couldn’t help but reach out and touch the side of her face. She immediately turned and leaned into the touch, and his thumb smoothed over her velvet soft skin. “I’ll be fine, Anabel. You needn’t worry.”

“Do you promise?” She asked softly.

His eyes were warm. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.” He said.

“Hawke.” 

They both jerked in surprise at the intrusion. Sebastian’s hand dropped to his side. They looked up to find Saemus Dumar standing there.

Hawke blinked at him. “Saemus?” She quickly got to her feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek and he slipped his arms around her giving her a quick squeeze before he stepped away. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Saemus nodded at Sebastian before turning back to Hawke. “I’ve been with the Qunari whenever I’ve been able to get away from the Keep. After what happened with the delegates I had no desire to stay cooped up playing politics.”

“We were all disappointed with how things turned out.” Anabel said, feeling guilty. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time on finding the Qunari’s stolen whatever it was.

“There’s been no change. None." Saemus said bitterly. "More Qunari dead, for no reason other than hate ” He seemed older somehow. Harder. Anabel supposed that what had happened with the Qunari delegates could dispel anyone's illusions, but she was sorry that Saemus might have lost that idealistic optimism that was such a part of him.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “I wish I’d been able to stop that. That I’d gotten there in time.” she said, her voice filled with regret.

Saemus looked surprised. “It wasn’t your fault, Hawke. You’ve helped, more than anyone. Your actions have shown the Qunari that not everyone feels that way. You’ve shown that even those who don’t follow the Qun can be honorable." He looked out at the crowds in the street. “But it’s going to take more to change people. Something else. Something … more.” There was a sudden determination in his eyes that made Anabel frown. He glanced at her and saw the frown and gave her a brief smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I should go. I'm glad I got to see you again, Hawke. Sebastian.” He gave Sebastian a quick nod and before they could even reply he’d turned and left. Heading towards the Docks, rather than Hightown she noticed. 

Anabel’s frown deepened as she watched him walk away. She sat back down trying to figure out what he could have meant. She looked over at Sebastian. “Do you have any idea what that might have meant?” She asked.

He was as perplexed as she seemed. “No.” Was it just youthful dramatics, or did the boy really have something planned? He looked at Anabel and could see her starting to worry. “None of that.” He ordered. “An obligation free day, remember?” 

She smiled at him. “Yes.” She agreed. “I’ve plenty of obligations already tomorrow. I might as well add worrying about Saemus to those.”

“Are you going out to the Bone Pit?” He asked.

She hesitated for just a moment before she answered. “Actually Anders has asked for some help with something.”

He fought to keep his voice neutral. “Oh?” 

“Yes. I’m not sure quite what, but Fenris has agreed to come along, and I’m going to swing by the Hanged Man and talk with Isabela, get her to come along as well."

The jealousy so carefully planted by Mother Petrice eased a bit at the news Fenris would be with her. He was the last person to tolerate any antics from Anders. “You’ll be back in time for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man?”

She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t objected. The last thing she wanted was for them to argue again. “I think we’ll be back long before that.” 

“Good.” He said. Fenris would see her safely back. He wouldn’t have to worry. “Shall we order some more wine? Or another pastry?” He suggested.

She caught her lip between her teeth and looked between the now empty plate, and the almost empty goblet and then almost guiltily up at him, and he couldn’t help laughing. “Right. Both it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal headcanon alert: I'm convinced there are restaurants and sidewalk cafes in Kirkwall, but that the mapmakers of Bioware simply forgot to put on the maps. 
> 
> For style and inspiration pictures you can check out my tumblr
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	25. It's Fine. I'm Fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian hears about the events with Ser Alrik under the Gallows.

It was already dark when Sebastian finally made it to The Hanged Man. The day had been quiet until late afternoon, when word had come from the Gallows about the tragedy. He’d returned with the messenger and spent the rest of the day planning the funeral; several funerals to be more accurate, though the decision had been made to hold just a single service for all seven men. Maker have mercy on their souls, he thought as he walked into the bar. He couldn’t help remembering what Anabel had said, that there was a darkness pressing in on Kirkwall. After seeing the condition of those bodies, he was inclined to agree with her.

The Hanged Man was crowded tonight. Sebastian pushed his way through the crowd to the stairs, and up to Varric’s suite.

“Choir Boy!” Varric called out as he walked in. “About time someone else showed up.”

“Varric, Merrill.” He said in greeting.

“Hello, Sebastian.” said Merrill, happily. “Varric's giving me some tips on how to win at Diamondback.”

“Help yourself to something.” Varric said, gesturing to the sideboard where an assortment of bottles had been set out. He turned back to Merrill. “So how many cards do you want, Daisy?”

Merrill examined her cards carefully before putting all of them face down on the table and sliding them towards Varric. “Five please.”

Varric stared at her a moment. “You’re sure about that.” He asked.

Merrill nodded, her small ponytails bobbing. “Yes, please.”

“You want all new cards?”

“Yes.”

Varric sighed and dealt her five new cards. “I should have invited the dog.” 

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile as he poured himself a small glass of whiskey. “I thought I would be the latecomer. The others aren’t here yet?” Anabel had been so convinced Anders’ job would be done quickly.

“Nah, not yet.” Varric seemed unconcerned.

“Do you know what they had planned?” He asked as he returned to the table.

“Some business in the lower reaches of Darktown. Blondie’s always a little close mouthed about things.” 

Telling himself he was worrying unnecessarily, Sebastian sat down and joined their game.

They heard Isabela before they saw her. “I don’t care how bloody busy you are. I need a bath. If someone doesn’t bring hot water to my room, I’m going to strip down give myself a sponge bath right there on the bar.” She shouted down the stairs. She stalked into the room and glared around before spotting the liquor on the sideboard and making a beeline for it. “Whiskey.” She demanded. “I need whiskey.” She grabbed a bottle, pulling out the cork with her teeth and spitting it to the ground. They watched as she lifted it to her mouth and chugged down several swallows. 

“Tough day, Rivaini?” Varric asked carefully as she lowered the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She just glared at him. “If anyone ever offers to show you the secret tunnels under Kirkwall, just turn them down.” She announced. “That’s all I’m going to say about it.” 

“Is everyone all right?” Asked Sebastian anxiously.

“Just peachy. They went to clean up and change.” She stalked out of Varric’s rooms and towards her own, still holding the whiskey, shouting down the stairs, demanding to know where her bathwater was, and leaving the others staring after her. 

It was almost another hour later before Fenris and Anabel finally appeared, an hour in which Sebastian had ample time to imagine all sorts of horrors that might have taken place.

Isabela had returned from her bath with almost empty whiskey bottle, in a much better mood, but still refusing to elaborate on her earlier statement. Instead she began regaling Merrill with tales of her life at sea, all of them improbable, and most of them dirty, to Merrill’s delight. 

“I don’t understand. If they were already lonely why would you make them be alone more?”

“Oh, Merrill.” Said Isabela, whose patience had apparently worn thin. “Think about it. It’ll come to you.” She took another swig from a new whiskey bottle, which she’d refused to let get more than a hand’s reach away.

“Sorry we’re late.” 

Sebastian turned at the sound of Anabel’s voice, and frowned when he saw her. Her day off might not even have happened. She seemed as worn out as she had been after her return from the Fade. She wore her father’s coat, and the rolled up cuffs and length of it made her look even smaller than she was, more fragile somehow, though that could have more to do with the look in her eyes. He got to his feet and crossed to her, wondering just what sort of trouble she had managed to find.

She saw him and relief flooded through her. Just the sight of him made her feel better. She wanted nothing more than to lean her head against his chest and feel his arms slip around her. _No touching_ , she reminded herself. After the day he’d given her yesterday the least she could do for him was respect his wishes. 

“Hi.” She said with a smile so weary that Sebastian decided to hold back his questions for now. 

“Hello.” He said, looking down at her. “I was starting to worry.” Still so lovely, in spite of her obvious exhaustion. She’d bathed before coming here. Her hair was damp and tied back with one of the ribbons he had given her yesterday a length of black lace as delicate as a shadow against those curls. She looked pale though. “Is everything all right?” He asked gently.

“It’s fine.” She murmured. In spite of her earlier resolve her hand lifted as if to touch him but she quickly lowered it. She looked up at him, savoring the concern and the affection in those blue eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She said, and her smile faltered a little.

“And what am I, chopped nug liver?” Varric called out from the table.

She laughed and turned to the dwarf. “Oh, you know you’ll always be my true love, Varric.” She promised.

He grunted. “It’s the chest hair isn’t it? Women can never resist the chest hair. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m already spoken for.”

Sebastian saw a glimpse of her dimple for the first time that evening. “Ah, Bianca’s beaten me again, has she?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“You know I’m a one woman dwarf, Hawke. So where’s Blondie?” 

Her smile vanished. “Anders isn’t coming.” She cast a worried glance at Fenris before shrugging awkwardly out of her coat, and laying it over the back of one of the chairs. Suddenly she wasn’t looking at any of them. “He wasn’t feeling up to it.”

Fenris gave a derisive snort and stalked over to the sideboard, grabbing a goblet and a bottle of wine. Anabel frowned and quickly followed him.

Sebastian and Varric exchanged a knowing look. Something had happened, obviously something to do with Anders. By tacit agreement neither of them voiced their questions out loud. Varric began dealing the cards, and Isabela resumed her story. Only Sebastian was watching Anabel and Fenris.

They were holding a hushed and fierce exchange at the sideboard. Sebastian couldn’t make out what they were saying. Fenris was clearly angry, and Anabel seemed to be trying to convince him of something, but their voices were too quiet for him to hear properly. Fenris abruptly pushed past her and returned to the table, throwing himself into a chair opposite Sebastian’s. He was scowling as he poured his wine.

Anabel remained where she was, her back to the rest of the room, leaning one hand on the sideboard. If Sebastian had thought she’d looked fragile in the coat, she looked even more so now. She wasn’t even wearing armor, he realized, just leggings and boots and an untucked silk shirt in a blue so dark that it only seemed to emphasize her paleness. She finally lifted her head, looking at the assorted bottles. Her hand hovered above them before she let it fall to her side, and she returned to the table without having selected anything. 

Sebastian pulled out the chair beside his for her and she slid into it with a grateful smile which quickly faded when she looked across at Fenris and saw he was still glaring at her. She turned away to speak to Merrill and missed seeing the scowl replaced by a worried frown. Fenris wasn’t merely angry, Sebastian realized. He was anxious. Anxious about Anabel.

He noticed Sebastian watching him and the scowl was immediately back. Sebastian didn’t respond to it, merely picked up the cards Varric had dealt him. 

After a while something approaching the usual mood was established.

Almost.

Anabel, who usually kept up a constant stream of chatter, barely spoke. She smiled at the jokes, but didn’t add any of her own. She smiled when anyone spoke to her or when she noticed them looking at her, but it never quite reached her eyes. She wasn’t paying any attention to the card game, or the money she was losing, even the way she was holding the cards seemed strangely stiff. After a few hands she told Varric to deal her out. 

Varric gave her a careful look. “Everything okay, Hawke?”

Again that false smile. “It’s fine.”

Fenris gave a small snort, earning him a brief glare from her before she looked away, lowering her eyes and staring unseeing at the tabletop in front of her. 

Isabela was in the middle of one of her stories but without pausing she pushed a shot of whiskey in front of her. Anabel reached out to take it, but the glass slipped from her hand. She caught it with her other hand before too much spilled, and quickly pulled both hands back to her lap, leaving the whiskey untouched. She looked to see if anyone had noticed, and found Sebastian watching her. He gave her a gentle smile, and she couldn’t help returning it. “I’m clumsy today, I’m afraid.”

He was relieved to see that at least when she looked at him the smile was real. What in the Maker’s name had happened to leave her so shaken?

“I’m out as well.” He told Varric, tossing down his cards and turning to face her. “You’re very quiet tonight.” He commented after a moment of watching her.

“Bit of a headache.” She admitted.

She’d spoken softly, but not so softly that Fenris didn’t hear it. “You are lucky to have a head at all after what the abomination did today.” He said harshly. The whole table was suddenly quiet.

“Fenris.” Anabel pleaded.

Fenris looked mutinous but he didn’t say anything more. 

Sebastian looked from one to the other. “What happened?” He asked her.

Anabel didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on Fenris, imploring him not to say anything.

Sebastian turned to Isabela.

She shook her head. “Oh no, I’m not reliving that experience. As far as I’m concerned it never happened.” She grabbed her whiskey bottle and took a drink from it, giving him a defiant glare.

Sebastian turned back to Anabel. “What happened?”

“It’s fine.” She said again, attempting to give him a reassuring smile and failing utterly. “I’m going to get a drink.” She announced, her voice falsely cheerful as she pushed away from the table. “Anyone else want something?”

Sebastian stood and moved in front of her, blocking her way. “What happened?” He asked again.

She turned her head away and he reached out and lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She insisted, but her throat was suddenly tight, and she had to blink rapidly to keep tears from falling. She refused to break down like some feeble maiden. She pulled her chin free. “It was nothing.” She said firmly, trying to move past him.

Before Sebastian could demand an explanation, Fenris had gotten to his feet and slammed his hand on the table. 

“ _Venhedis!_ It was not nothing, Hawke! When are you going to admit to yourself how dangerous he is?” He turned to Sebastian. “The abomination lost control and tried to kill a girl. Hawke got between them and was nearly killed herself.” He turned back to Anabel. “I thought he had killed you when I saw you lying there.” He shouted at her. “I thought you were dead!” 

Anders had attacked Anabel. He knew it. He knew this would happen one day. He should have followed his instincts and told the Templars when he first found out what the man was. He turned sharply to face Anabel. “Is this true?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.” She repeated, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anyone else.

“Is it true?” He asked more forcefully this time.

She’d never seen him like this “Yes.” She admitted finally. “He didn’t mean to hurt me.” She rushed to say. “I’m fine.”

Those same two words again, as if repeating them could make it so. “Did Anders knock you unconscious? Or am I misunderstanding what Fenris just said?” He asked.

Her eyes were huge in her face. “Yes.” She whispered. 

“Yes, I’m misunderstanding it?” He wasn’t asking for answers, he was demanding them. He was angry, she realized, but this wasn’t like the other day when he’d been angry about the Fade, and it wasn’t like when she fought with Anders and they just screamed at each other until one of them stormed out of the room. This was a cold anger, detached from any emotions that might render it less effective. It was the same anger she’d seen in him when he’d fired that arrow at Elthina, when vengeance for his family had been his sole focus. Those blue eyes were merciless. What on Thedas had she done to make him look at her like that?

“Yes, I was unconscious.” She said, her mouth suddenly dry.

He just stared at her. “And you didn’t think it was important enough to mention?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She said cursing the way her voice was shaking. “It’s over. It’s done. I’m...” 

“You’re fine?” He finished her statement for her. “Anders nearly kills you, and you’re fine.”

Her chin lifted defiantly. “It wasn’t Anders, it was Justice. Anders wouldn’t hurt me.” She insisted. “He wouldn’t.” She paused, trying to block out how he’d looked as he’d grabbed her. “Anders wouldn’t hurt me.” She repeated, with less conviction. “He lost control.”

He couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince him or herself. “He lost control?” He repeated in a incredulous voice. “Is that all? He just ‘lost control’. The possessed mage just ‘lost control’ of the spirit that lives inside him, and that’s why he attacked you?” Sebastian clenched his fists, trying desperately to hold his temper. “Do you hear yourself speak?” He asked her. In spite of his efforts, he was unable to keep from raising his voice.

It wasn’t like he made it sound. “He was angry. He only lost control when Alrik threatened that girl.”

Sebastian’s blood went cold. “Alrik? The Templar?” 

She knew something she’d said had made it worse, but she didn’t know what. “You know him?” She asked completely confused by his reaction.

He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. “In as much as I spent several hours at the Gallows today arranging the service for his funeral – for his funeral and the funerals of six other Templars, yes, I know him.” 

There was dead silence in the room now, the only sounds coming from the crowd downstairs. Varric moved and quickly closed the door to the suite, shutting it out.

Anabel’s eyes were huge as she stared at Sebastian.

“Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.” _Dear Maker, please let her have had nothing to do with this._

She didn’t say anything.

“How many times am I expected to overlook slaughtered Templars, Anabel?” He asked her, his voice deadly calm. “How many?” He suddenly shouted. 

She flinched at his words. It wasn’t like that. Sweet Andraste, she had to make him see it wasn’t like that. “Alrik was plotting to make every mage in Kirkwall, in Thedas tranquil.” She said, trying to explain. “We were helping Anders find proof of it.”

“Elthina dimissed that petition weeks ago.” Murdering Templars. He should have realized Anders would be involved. 

“I know that now.” She said, and then what he had said sank in. “You knew about it?” she asked him incredulously.

He made an impatient noise. “I’m Elthina’s secretary, Anabel. Of course I knew about it! If you had simply come to me or to Elthina we could have told you that such a thing would never be allowed. It is the job of the chantry and the Templars to protect mages, not render them mindless.” 

How had she let herself be talked into this job? How could Anders even have considered asking for her help, how could he ever have put her at risk like that?

She blinked stupidly. Why hadn’t she gone to him? It hadn’t even occurred to her. She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think…” She started to say.

He cut her off. “You didn’t think?” He asked sarcastically. “Yes, that’s abundantly clear. You didn’t think, you just went merrily off, as always, and now seven templars are dead. Seven. And you were nearly killed as well!” He was making no effort not to shout now. Perhaps volume would get through to her where logic had so clearly failed. Sweet Andraste was there ever going to be a day that she didn’t put her life at risk?

“I didn’t intend to kill anyone.” Anabel said trying to explain.

“And yet there’s another pile of bodies. Another group of murdered Templars.”

“If you would just let me explain!” She said, shouting back at him finally. She took a breath and continued in a quieter voice. “There was a girl, Sebastian.” She said earnestly. “A mage. She was barely more than a child. Alrik and the others were going to rape her. Make her tranquil, and then rape her. All of them. All seven of them.” She repeated, for emphasis.

Sebastian seemed to hesitate. “You can’t know that for certain.” He said carefully.

She stared at him. “Oh, really, I can.” She could still hear Alrik’s oily voice.

_That’s right once you're Tranquil you’ll do anything I ask._

All the anger she’d felt when he’d said that came rushing back, and she welcomed it. If she was angry it was harder to be frightened, and what had happened with Anders had terrified her. “Would you like to know what her crime was? She wanted to see her family. She hadn’t seen them since they’d dragged her to the Circle. She wanted to make sure they knew where she was, that she was all right. And for that they were going to take away her mind and abuse her. Gang rape her. So tell me: should I have stood by and let that happen?” She asked. “Should I have ignored it simply because they wore Templar uniforms? Is that what you would have done?” She let the anger show in her voice. “Tell me!” She shouted at him.

She was angry with him? She had no right…. screaming at him like a fishwife. “Even if what you say is true, you can’t just charge in like that.” He told her. “Like you were judge, jury, and executioner. You aren’t the law, Anabel.” She was going to get herself killed if she kept doing this.

She was staring at him in disbelief. “Even if it’s true?” She repeated. “Do you think I’m making this up?”

“No!” He knew she wasn’t. He ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She wasn’t listening any longer. “You don’t like the way I handled it? Fine. What should I have done? Left her there with them, gone to the Gallows and fetched back the Knight Commander? What would that have accomplished, other than guaranteeing the girl was made tranquil? Or should I have gone to the Chantry, perhaps? Oh, wait, the Chantry doesn’t do anything to interfere with the Templars’ handling of mages, do they? They find it all too easy to look the other way while mages are being tortured and made tranquil for no reason other than that they are mages.” She was shouting again. “Or maybe I shouldn’t have defended myself at all. Would that have satisfied your high moral opinion of what’s right and what’s wrong? Would you be satisfied with my actions if I had just stood there and let them kill me?” 

Sebastian looked down at the girl in front of him. Barely coming to his shoulder yet she stood toe to toe with him, fearlessly standing her ground. He could see her standing up to Alrik the same way. He could picture her fighting the man, could see how small she would have looked beside him clad only in her leathers. Ser Alrik had been a brute of a man. He would have towered over her in his Templar armor. Sebastian hated that image. Hated to think what might have happened to her today at Alrik’s hands. Alrik’s Tranquil Solution had proven he despised mages. If there were truly Templars abusing their charges, he could easily see Alrik being one of them. He looked at Anabel, her eyes blazing, waiting for his answer. For a moment he wavered, and then he remembered.

It hadn’t been Alrik who had hurt her.

_The abomination tried to kill a girl. Hawke got between them and was nearly killed herself._

It had been Anders who had hurt her. Not Alrik. Anders and that demon that lived inside him. Anders that she was conveniently leaving out of the whole story, protecting him, even now. 

“Explain something to me.” He suddenly demanded. “How did you go from protecting this girl from the Templars to protecting her from Anders?” He looked expectantly at her.

The anger seemed to drain out of her. “Justice attacked her.” She said so low that he had to strain to hear her.

“So you said. What you didn’t say was why.”

She stared at him, not speaking.

“Why?!” He demanded, shouting once more.

She looked away for a moment, and when she looked back her eyes were brimming with tears. “She called him a demon. He accused her of being on the Templars’ side. Of being one of them.”

Sebastian’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “And why did he attack you?”

“I put myself between them. I thought he would hear me. I thought there was a better chance that he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“A rather glaring misjudgment on your part, wasn’t it?”

“It was Justice, who hurt me, not Anders.” She insisted. “Anders wouldn’t do that. Anders wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.” 

“They are the same creature!” He shouted at her. “Are you truly going to try and justify what he did to you? What he almost did to that girl? He is an abomination. He should be locked up.” He should be killed, he thought, though he refrained from saying it out loud.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “And what about Alrik? He attacked me. He would have killed me. He would have raped that girl and made her tranquil. Would you demand the same punishment for him?” She demanded.

That was different, he thought, though he couldn’t think how to justify why it was.

She saw his hesitation and her heart sank. “You wouldn’t have, would you? After all, she’s just a mage. She was caught running away. What does it matter if she’s raped or made tranquil or murdered by them? After all they’re Templars. They do the Chantry’s work.” She shook her head. “That’s a fascinating concept of justice you have there, Your Highness.”

Justice. An image of his face when he’d rushed at her flashed in her mind – Anders’ face, distorted with rage, glowing, cracks running through it, power oozing out of him. _You shall not come between us_ , he’d snarled and she suddenly wondered if he’d meant between him and the girl or between him and Anders.

Sebastian saw the fight go out of her. All that indignant fury simply vanished. She seemed even paler than before. She raised a shaking hand to the locket she wore, his locket, her fingers running over the small amethysts as if she found comfort from the feel of them. 

She did that when she was upset. She found comfort in it. She always wore it. She’d kept it all these years, worn it all these years because of what it meant to her. What he meant to her.

And then it occurred to him that it hadn’t just been Justice who had turned against her. It had been Anders as well.

And Fenris and Isabela in the Fade.

And him, just now when he’d as good as said that the life of a Templar was more important than that of a mage.

How much betrayal and disappointment could once person take before it became too much?

“Anabel.” He reached out a hand to touch her but she yanked herself out of reach.

If he touched her she’d break down completely and she refused to do that. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I’ve had a bitch of a day and I find myself in great need of some fresh air.” Her voice cracked on the last words. She pushed passed and yanked open the door, running down the stairs before he could even think to stop her.

Sebastian stood by the table staring after her. 

There was an awkward silence in the room for a few seconds after she left, and then Sebastian cursed loudly and slammed his fist on the table so hard that Merrill flinched. He ran down the stairs and out of the tavern, catching up with Anabel at the steps to the lower market.

“Anabel, wait.” 

She ignored him and kept walking. “Anabel.” He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and she gave a quick sharp cry of pain. 

He immediately let go.

She was cradling her right arm and fighting back tears. 

She hadn’t used her right arm at all tonight, he realized. He thought of how awkwardly she’d taken off her coat. She hadn’t poured herself a drink, not because she hadn’t wanted one, but because she’d been unable to uncork the bottles. And then she’d dropped the drink Isabela had poured her because she’d reached for it with her right hand. He reached out and gently took her arm, pulling up her shirtsleeve. Her wrist was swollen and bruised, dark blue fingermarks standing out in livid contrast against the whiteness of her skin. 

He looked up at her. 

She was watching him, her eyes wary but defiant. “It looks worse than it is.” She insisted.

His jaw clenched but he merely said. “You should have had him heal this.”

She pulled her arm away and rolled the sleeve back down. She swiped fiercely at her eyes, wiping away the tears. “I didn’t want him to know that he’d hurt me. He’d been through enough. It’s not broken.” She didn’t think it was anyway. “I’ll get Bodahn to help me bandage it when I get home.” She was suddenly tired beyond belief. She just wanted to crawl into bed.

“Maybe it would do him some good to see that he hurt you.” Sebastian said quietly.

She looked at him in astonishment. “Do you think he doesn’t know what he almost did? He is broken by this! It was all I could do to keep him from fleeing Kirkwall.”

She could see it in Sebastian’s face that he wished she hadn’t.

“He heard me.” She insisted. “When I tried to stop him, I know he heard me, he told me so. It’s how he got control again.” She raised a tearstained face to him. “If he wasn’t here, if he didn’t have me, who would do that for him?” Her voice was shaking. 

“He’s not a safe man, Anabel. There may come a time when you won’t be able to stop him. When you won’t be able to save the innocents he’s trying to harm.” He said quietly.

She turned away, not wanting to hear his words. “You didn’t seem him after.” She said stubbornly. “He’s more horrified by this than any of us. He’s going to quit the Mage Underground. He’s even talking about giving up healing, he’s that afraid of accidentally hurting someone.” 

Sebastian didn’t comment. The simple truth was that Anabel would never give up on those she cared about, and Maker knew why, she cared about Anders.

A sudden gust of wind blew and she shivered. She’d left her coat in Varric’s suite. “We should go back and get your coat.”

“No.” She said, shaking her head. “I just want to go home.” 

They walked the whole way to her house in silence. When they got there, she put her hand on the doorknob but didn’t open it. 

“Anabel?” he asked. She was shivering. From the cold or from everything that happened he couldn’t be sure.

She didn’t look up at him. “I hate that we’re fighting so much. I don’t understand why.” 

He saw that tears were falling down her cheeks again. 

He reached out and turned her so she was facing him. She looked up at him and he reached out and softly brushed the tears away, allowing himself just that small touch. “We were bound to disagree at some point.” 

“We seem to be doing it all the time suddenly. Why is that?”

“We’ve agreed there’s going to be no physical side to our relationship. I think that’s caused a certain tension between us that wasn’t there before.”

“Because we both want there to be.” It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." He didn’t deny it. “Come, let’s take care of that wrist.” He led her inside and bandaged her wrist himself, before returning to the Chantry.

 

He couldn’t sleep that night. His mind kept coming back to Alrik and the other Templars.

Growing up, the Templars had been men of the highest honor. Warriors for the Maker. Protectors of the innocent, mages and non mages alike. 

When he was older he’d heard stories, of course there were stories. Evil could be found anywhere. But Templars followed the will of the Maker. Magic must not rule over men. The Templars were there to ensure it.

What if it were a lie? What if power corrupted Templars as easily as other men? What if the good Templars were the exception and not the other way around. 

Anders certainly thought so. And Sebastian suspected Anabel did as well. 

It was an unbalanced system, the Templars had complete control over the mages’ lives. 

What must it be like to live like that every day, even if the Templars were good men?

But not all Templars were good men. He didn’t doubt the truth of Anabel’s recounting of what had happened with Alrik. The man’s Tranquil Solution was appalling. Even Meredith had dismissed it.

But Anders, who'd grown up in the Circle believed it instantly. He had believed that the Chantry would embrace it. 

Where had it all gone so incredibly wrong?

After much praying and very little sleep, Sebastian found himself in Darktown in front of the closed doors to Anders’ clinic. The lantern outside the clinic was unlit but Sebastian walked in anyway. Anders was lying on one of the clinic cots, his arm over his eyes.

“The clinic’s closed.” Anders said gruffly without looking. His voice sounded hoarse and unused, and painfully tired.

“I didn’t come here for healing.” 

There was no mistaking that voice. Anders moved his arm and looked towards the door. The Prince of Starkhaven in all his shiny white glory. He slowly sat up. 

They stared at each other for a moment. “To what do I owe this honor?” Asked Anders.

He looked awful. Unshaven, unwashed, his eyes red rimmed. 

“You could have come to me and asked.” Sebastian said simply.

“Oh really?” Anders asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “And then would we have braided each other’s hair and painted our toenails and shared all our girlish secrets? We’re not friends Sebastian.” 

“I might have been able to set your mind at ease. Without people getting killed. Without Anabel getting hurt.”

Anders slumped at the mention of Anabel, all righteous indignation gone. “Is she all right?” he asked hoarsely. 

“A headache. And a badly injured wrist. She says it’s not broken, but it’s causing her a lot of pain.” 

Anders rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. “I’ll go see her this morning.” 

“Thank you.” He still didn’t move.

“Was there something else?” Anders asked, just wanting the man gone. This man who had everything. Freedom. Respect. Hawke. 

"Your ‘Tranquil Solution’ was hardly the holocaust you imagined, was it?” Sebastian regretted the words the minute they left his mouth. 

Anders stared at him, disbelievingly. “You've been seeking revenge for the death of one family for as long as I've known you. Are you honestly judging me for trying to save the lives of every mage in Thedas?”

“But don’t you see?” Sebastian said. “They were never threatened. It was a single man's lunacy. Elthina said no. Meredith said no. The Chantry would never follow through with such a thing.” There must be some way to get the man to see that the Chantry was not his enemy. 

“Not yet, you mean.” Anders muttered. But there was no passion, no energy behind the words. He just sounded resigned. 

Sebastian had been a brother too long to ignore someone in such obvious pain. Perhaps Anabel was right. Perhaps Anders would take this chance to start anew. “Anders, if you ever want to talk about this with me or Elthina, well, you can.”

Anders looked surprised by the offer. He stared down at the floor by his feet. “When Hawke showed me Alrik’s note…. Maybe the Grand Cleric isn’t as anti-mage as I thought. I don’t know. I’ll consider it.” He looked utterly defeated, hunched there on the rickety cot.

Sebastian nodded. “Just let me know.” He walked to the door of the clinic and paused. Without turning his head, he spoke. “But, Anders.” 

Anders looked up.

“If you or that demon of yours ever threatens or harms Anabel again, I will kill you myself.” He turned and looked at Anders and his blue eyes were ice cold. There was no sign of the kindly brother. 

Anders drew himself upright. “If that happens you won’t have to. I’ll take care of it myself.” 

Sebastian nodded, and left the clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have inspiration photos up on my tumblr if anyone is interested.
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	26. A Morning Spent Sulking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anabel sulks, and Leandra suddenly gets chatty.

Leandra watched her daughter from the library door. In spite of how late Anabel had gotten in last night she’d risen almost at dawn, and apparently for no reason, as she’d done nothing in the hours since but sit curled up in an armchair in front of the fire, clad in a pair of ratty leggings that must date back to their time in Lowtown, and what appeared to be an old shirt of Carver’s that came almost to her knees. She hadn’t even bothered to comb her hair. She was obviously upset about something, hurting, and from more than whatever injury she’d done to her wrist. 

Leandra didn’t have a clue how to make her feel better, or even if such a thing would be welcomed. She suspected not. The truth was she didn’t know how to talk to Anabel.

A few weeks ago it wouldn’t have mattered. She would simply have ignored the girl’s mood, and gone about her business, trusting Anabel to sort out her own problems, as she’d done since she was little. 

But something had changed. Ever since that night when she’d drunk so much of that Orlesian wine that Sebastian Vael had brought, when she’d told all those stories, Leandra had been unable to stop thinking about her life with Malcolm. 

Not about when they’d had to flee and leave one place or another. Not about the quarrels or the worries about money, or Templars or magic. 

Leandra couldn’t stop thinking about the fun they’d had. Of how much they’d laughed in spite of everything. 

She couldn’t help seeing Malcolm whenever she looked at Anabel, they were so much alike, but for the first time in years the association didn’t hurt.

She felt like talking about him. About him and Bethany and Carver. Talking about that life. She wanted to be able to say, do you remember when? Do you remember that time? 

She wanted to be able to sit with the only child left to her and remember and laugh the way they used to when they were all together. They were the only two left.

Leandra’s relationship with Anabel had never been easy, not even when she was a child, but now it was so difficult, had become so tortuous and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

The girl was her daughter, her first born, and yet they were completely dissimilar. They seemed to have nothing in common at all. She was entirely Malcolm, as if he had managed to magically produce a child all by himself, and Leandra had only carried her. His Little Hawke. Everything about the girl, the way she looked, the way she moved, even the way she spoke, that slightly mocking tilt of the head before she eviscerated someone verbally -- it was all Malcolm. For years Leandra had thought there was nothing of the Amells in Anabel at all.

It was Gamlen who had pointed out to her that Anabel’s had their mother’s voice. Leandra had fiercely denied it. Their mother’s voice had too frequently been disdainful, cold and haughty –- qualities utterly foreign to Anabel’s merry disposition. But then she’d listened for it and he’d been right.

There was something of the Amells in her after all. 

After Malcolm had died she would look at Anabel, and he would be all she could see. 

Malcolm Hawke had changed everything in her life, had led her on that mad, vagabond existence, promising her for years that someday they’d have a real home, that they’d be able to stop moving around and settle down. But when they finally had, when they finally found a home in Lothering, not just a house, but a home, he had left her.

She’d hated him for that, and hated Anabel for reminding her of him and all those broken promises. For reminding her of everything she’d lost, not just Malcolm, but her family and her life in Kirkwall as well. She’d been so angry with him. She’d given up everything for him and he’d died. He’d left. And Malcolm hadn’t been there, so she’d blamed Anabel. 

It had taken years for her to see that. To admit it. Years of weekly talks with the Grand Cleric, but slowly she had, and for the first time in years when she looked at her daughter she just saw Anabel. And she didn’t know her. Didn’t know how to talk to her. Didn’t think they had anything in common.

When Anabel had bought and restored the Amell mansion she’d been so hopeful. She thought it had meant that the girl wanted to take her rightful place in Kirkwall society. She’d thought she’d be able to show her how to do that, that they’d be able to go to the dinner parties and balls and salons together. That they’d go shopping in Hightown.

As it turned out, Anabel was completely uninterested in any of it. She would have been perfectly happy to continue spending her evenings in that horrible tavern in Lowtown, with those entirely unsuitable friends. Oh, under great duress she’d occasionally accompany Leandra to some events, but she’d usually disappear halfway through them. More than once Leandra had had to hunt her down at the end of a party, usually finding her with her nose buried in a book in a study or library.

Leandra had been as confused as the rest of Hightown by her. Why go through the trouble of making a fortune and buying back the mansion if she didn’t want anything to do with the life that came with it? 

The girl was odd. She’d known that, of course. It hadn’t seemed to matter much when she was a child. Leandra had Bethany. Every inch an Amell, though far sweeter and more tender-hearted than any Amell Leandra had ever encountered. She’d been content to let Anabel run wild with Carver and her father. 

Anabel had always been a mystery to her. And the things she got up to!

When Leandra’s friends began calling again she’d had been embarrassed by their questions: is it true she goes down to the Docks and speaks with the Arishok himself? Is it true she killed a dragon at that mine? Is it true she battled blood mages for the Templars? Is it true that she and that lady pirate…. Leandra had brushed all the questions aside, said, no, it was all exaggerated, silently cursing her daughter for not even attempting to fit in. 

She’d all but written her off as a lost cause when, to Hightown’s and Leandra’s mutual surprise, Anabel had attracted the attention of Sebastian Vael, of all people. Not just the attention. The man seemed completely and utterly devoted to her. 

A Vael of Starkhaven. The Prince and rightful ruler. Leandra could just imagine how delighted her parents would have been.

Once she’d gotten over the shock, Leandra had taken another look at her daughter, and she’d realized that somehow, at some point in the last three years, Anabel had come into her own. 

As odd as she was, in spite of her undoubtedly unorthodox behavior, she’d somehow earned the respect of not only Sebastian, but of the Grand Cleric, and even the Viscount, and she’d done it without changing a thing about herself. Instead of being appalled by her, people suddenly seemed to find her charming. Fascinating.

Leandra hadn’t understood it at all. She still cringed when Anabel would lean on her elbows during a dinner party. Winced when she’d begin talking politics or swords with the lord of the household. And then there had been that time an elven servant had dropped a platter and Anabel had actually gotten out of her chair and helped him pick everything up. 

_What if she weren’t your child_ , the Grand Cleric had asked Leandra a few weeks ago when she’d been complaining about her. _Would you view her differently?_

She’d dismissed the idea. But then, after that night she’d drunk all that wine, she’d lie awake thinking about Malcolm, thinking how horrified he would be at the state of affairs between his wife and his oldest daughter and she’d found herself doing what Elthina had suggested.

If Anabel weren’t her daughter, what would she see? Yes, she was still undeniably peculiar. No, she didn’t behave the way one was supposed to, but she seemed to accomplish all manner of impossible tasks without even blinking an eye. She helped anyone who asked. She was generous to a fault. She was unhesitatingly loyal, even to those ridiculous friends she’d gathered when they’d lived in Lowtown. 

She was admirable. She was someone Leandra would like to meet. Someone she would want to get to know.

And they were practically strangers. Oh, yes, they lived in the same house, shared meals occasionally, argued more frequently, but she didn’t know her and suddenly she wanted to.

 _How do I fix it?_ She’d asked the Grand Cleric the last time they’d met. 

_Try talking to her,_ Elthina had suggested. _Not about the past, not about blame and guilt and things you might have done wrong. Talk about simple, everyday things._

“My mother always told me it was impolite to lurk in doorways.” Anabel said still staring unsmiling at the fire.

“And she was quite correct.” Said Leandra moving into the room. She hesitated for a moment and then sat in the armchair next to her but didn’t speak.

“Did you need something?” Anabel asked finally, turning and looking at her.

She looked exhausted. Leandra’s eyes flickered to the bandage on her wrist. “Did you hurt yourself?” 

Anabel’s hand went to her wrist, touching it lightly. “It’s fine.” She said, and winced at the words. “Sebastian bandaged it.” It was throbbing painfully, actually. She hadn’t been able to find any healing potions last night. It was a testament to the kind of life she led that she couldn’t seem to keep them in stock.

“Anders wasn’t with you?” Leandra asked. She suspected she didn’t know about half the injuries Anabel received because the mage healed them before she returned home. Trust Anabel to have found an apostate spirit healer mage to add to her group. Leandra had worried when she’d first met him, worried that Anabel was attracted to him because he was so similar to the father she’d adored. Leandra liked Anders, she truly did, but he could be quite grim at times, an attribute he and Malcolm most certainly didn’t share. However years had passed, and nothing had come of it, though she could tell Anders cared deeply for her daughter. 

A shadow passed over Anabel’s face. “No, he wasn’t there after I hurt my wrist.” She didn’t say anything more.

Leandra couldn’t help wondering what was causing this mood. Anabel might have her faults, but sulking usually wasn’t one of them. 

“Did you and Sebastian quarrel?” She asked tentatively.

Anabel closed her eyes. That was the last conversation she wanted to have with Leandra. She didn’t think she could handle a lecture on how her behavior was no doubt to blame for their disagreement and if she’d just behave the way an Amell should, blah, blah, blah.

She didn’t reply, hoping her mother would let it go.

“You seemed to have such a nice time the other day.” Indeed, Anabel had been positively glowing with happiness when Sebastian had brought her home. 

“We did.” It had been a perfect day. She wondered if they’d ever have another one like it now. Probably not. 

“Did something happen yesterday?” 

Apparently she wasn’t going to let this go. It was a new development, this cornering her unexpectedly and almost babbling on about the most ridiculously unimportant things. Fine. Her mother wanted to hear about it, she could hear about it. 

She turned to face her. “I fucked up.” She said bluntly.

“Anabel!” 

“What? You can’t tell me you didn’t expect it. This is me we’re talking about. Your not elegant daughter, with her horrible manners and outrageous behavior and frizzy orange hair. The one who’s too short and too skinny and likes to play with knives and run around with pirates and apostates and questionable dwarves and elves. The one who doesn’t fit in with Kirkwall society and who will never catch a husband unless she undergoes a radical personality change. I fucked it up.”

Leandra hadn’t realized until quite recently how insecure Anabel was about her looks. She decided to ignore the outburst. “So you did quarrel.” She said.

Anabel scowled. “No we didn’t ‘quarrel’. We fought. I shrieked at him, he shouted at me, we both accused each other of all sorts of awful things that we knew weren’t true….” Her voice trailed off.

“And yet he walked you home and bandaged your wrist.”

“He was probably just being polite. _His_ manners are perfect.”

“Yours would be too if you put any effort into it.” She couldn’t help saying. 

Anabel didn’t respond to that.

“Did you fight about Anders?” Leandra asked after a moment.

“No.” Anabel said automatically, and then she thought about it. “Yes. Sort of. I don’t know.” She gave her mother a curious look. “Why would you think we’d fought about Anders?”

“I’ve seen how the man looks at you. No doubt Sebastian has as well.” 

“It’s not the way you think. Neither of them wants me that way.” Anabel was brooding at the fire again.

She couldn’t possibly be that oblivious, could she? Leandra tried to decide if she should pursue it and decided against it. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” 

“Nothing.” Anabel said petulantly.

“Nothing?” Leandra didn’t think her oldest child had ever done nothing.

“Nothing.” Anabel repeated. “I’m going to sit here and not do anything. I’m not even going to get dressed or put shoes on. I’m going to sulk, and pout, and I'm considering drinking an entire bottle of brandy all by myself.” Maybe that would stop her wrist from throbbing. “I’m not going to do any jobs for anyone. I’m not going to hunt things down, or search out bad guys. I’m not going to threaten or stab or kill anyone. I don’t care who asks me. I’m going to sit in my mansion and sulk and be selfish.”

“I think you might find it a little dull.” Leandra finally commented. 

“I want dull. I’m tired of exciting.” She tilted her head back against the chair glaring at that hideous statue hanging above the fireplace. A conversation piece, the Orlesian decorator had called it. Something to make people talk. _Something to give people nightmares_ , she’d thought at the time. But Jean-Paul had said it was essential to his design, so there it hung, squatting above the mantle, leering malevolently down at the room and everyone in it. She’d seen similar pieces in other Hightown homes. They’d looked just as creepy as this one. She turned back to her mother. “I’m going to be as mindless as all the rest of the young ladies of Hightown.” She proclaimed. “I’m going to eat bonbons and read breathtakingly silly romantic novels. I may even have a ridiculous conversation about which shade of blue is in fashion this season. I’ll be the perfect Amell. Well, I’ll behave like one anyway. Nothing I can do about the looks.” She returned her attentions to the fire.

Leandra stared at her with a small frown on her face. “Is that really how you think the perfect Amell would behave?” She asked. 

Anabel shrugged. “No doubt I’ve got that wrong too.” 

Maker. She really hadn’t been joking about the sulking, had she? “I used to hate my hair.” She was surprised to hear herself saying.

Anabel looked at her in disbelief. “That perfect straight shiny Amell hair? I don’t believe it.”

“I did. It was like everyone else’s hair in the family. And too straight. It never stayed when I tried to pin it up unless I used a whole rack of hairpins. And I thought the color was boring.”

Anabel couldn’t help a small smile at the thought. “Next you’ll be telling me you wanted to be short and have curly red hair.”

“Well, no, I wouldn’t go that far.” Leandra admitted, pleased to have gotten a smile out of the girl. “But I wouldn’t have minded being blonde. Like Dulcie DeLauncet. The men always flocked around her at parties. She made them feel manly -- all those fluttering eyelashes and the whole helpless thing she did and the fact she was so petite. She’s not much bigger than you. She made the smallest, scrawniest men feel masculine. I was taller than so many of them. The Comte was one of the few men in Kirkwall who was actually taller than me. He told me he preferred a woman that he could look in the eye, one who was intelligent and offered her opinions.”

Leandra never spoke about her broken engagement. “It must have stung a bit when you found out he’d married Dulcie.”

“A little, perhaps.” Leandra admitted. “But I wouldn’t change the choice I made.” She turned to look at her daughter and found Anabel staring at her.

“Truly?” Anabel asked.

“Truly.” After a moment’s hesitation Leandra continued. “I miss it though. Being married. I’ve been thinking about it. Thinking I might marry again.” 

Anabel just blinked at her. She wasn’t sure which statement surprised her more. “Really?” she asked dubiously.

Leandra couldn’t help being a little offended at the reaction. “It’s not such a ridiculous idea, you know. I’m still fairly young. It is conceivable that someone might find me attractive. I’ve been alone for almost seven years. I miss sharing my life with someone.”

Anabel tried to think of what to say. Leandra married. To someone other than Da. Strangely, the idea didn’t hurt as much as she would have thought. At least Leandra was talking about Da these days. And she could certainly sympathize about her wanting to share her life with someone. “It’s not ridiculous at all.” She said. And it wasn’t. There were always a few older gentlemen paying her compliments at the parties they went to. “Are you talking generalities here or did you have someone specific in mind?” 

“No one I’m ready to tell you about.” Said Leandra. She gave her daughter a pointed look. “You shouldn’t be alone either.” She informed her.

Anabel just rolled her eyes. She hadn’t exactly chosen to be. Andraste had just gotten there first. “I don’t think anyone’s willing to put up with me. You know what I’m like.” She said, trying to make a joke of it.

Leandra shook her head. “Your father used to do that. Joke when something upset him. He got terribly offended when I pointed it out once. Said it made him sound like a clown. He said he didn’t joke, that he was taming the shadows with questionable wit.” Her lips curved into a small smile at the memory.

Anabel couldn't help smiling as well. “That sounds like something he would say.”

Perhaps now was the time to talk with her about Malcolm, about what she had realized. Leandra took a deep breath. “You’re so much like him. I sometimes…”

There was a knock at the library door. “Excuse me, Lady Amell. Master Anders is at the door. He wanted to know if Serrah Hawke would see him.” Bodahn looked at her expectantly.

“He’s at the front door?” Anabel asked in surprise. 

“Yes, Messere.”

Anabel just frowned.

“Honestly Anabel, where are your manners? Show him in Bodahn.” Leandra stood. “Have him look at that wrist.” Their talk could wait until another time.

She turned back to stare at the fire. That had been…odd. A helpful and confiding Leandra was definitely a new development. She didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“She’s in a mood today, Anders. Just a warning.” She heard her mother say to Anders.

Well, that was more like the Leandra she knew. 

She turned to see Anders hesitating in the doorway as if he were afraid she might order him out. “Hi. “ She said, looking him over. Had he slept at all? Doubtful. “You look like crap.” She commented in a conversational tone.

He gave a brief harsh laugh. “Thanks. You’re looking fairly shitty yourself.” He said walking over to her.

“It takes quite a bit of effort to look this bad. You might at least appreciate that.” 

“I’ve been told you have an injured wrist and a headache that you neglected to mention yesterday.”

She gave him a confused frown. The only person who could have told him…. “Oh, fuck. Did Sebastian go see you?” She didn’t even want to imagine that conversation. 

He ignored the question. “You should have told me.” 

She leaned her head against the back of the chair. “I probably should have. It’s fucking killing me now. I was trying to spare your feelings. I won’t make that fucking mistake again.” It was a relief to be able to swear about it. She always had to watch her language around Leandra.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and taking her hand pulled up her shirt sleeve and unwrapped the bandage. He froze when he saw her wrist. He looked up at her. “I’m sorry.” His eyes went back to the almost black fingermark bruises.

“It wasn’t you.” She said tiredly. “It was Justice. He really doesn’t like me much, does he?” She gave a sudden hiss of pain as he rotated her hand. “Fuck, Anders. At least warn me before you do that. That fucking hurt.”

“It’s broken.” He said, so low she barely heard him. “I broke your wrist.”

“Fucking Justice broke my wrist.” She reminded him. “He’s not invited to any more of my parties, by the way.” 

She was joking. He knew from that drawn in breath he had hurt her badly. He sent out a pulse of healing magic and cursed. Both bones in her wrist. Not even a clean break. Split like a green twig. Her wrist hadn’t been broken so much as crushed. He couldn’t even look at her.

Hawke’s uninjured hand was suddenly on his chin forcing his face up. “No.” she said. “You do not get to feel guilty for something fucking Justice did.” She said fiercely. “This is not your fault. Don’t you dare make it about you.” She let go and leaned back in the chair again. “Just fucking fix my wrist, and get it over with.” 

“The mouth on you.” said Varric, walking into the room. “I thought Hightown girls didn’t curse like sailors.”

“This particular Hightown girl is about to be swearing a lot more. I broke my wrist, apparently.” She informed the dwarf.

“I broke your wrist.” Muttered Anders.

“You fucking did not break my fucking wrist!” She shouted at him.

“Anabel! Language!” Leandra reprimanded from the other room.

“What brings you here so bright and early?” She asked Varric, trying to ignore Anders’ hand on her wrist, knowing that as much as it hurt now, in a moment it was going to hurt more. 

“First of all it’s close to noon.” He pointed out. “And second, you go storming out into the night with Choir Boy hot on your heels and you think I’m not going come by in the morning for details?.” 

Hawke looked sullen again. “He walked me home, that’s all.” She didn’t know how they’d even left things. She didn’t think they were fighting anymore. She’d half been hoping she’d hear from him this morning. But she hadn’t. Though to be fair, she hadn’t sent him a message either. “There are no details.”

Varric saw her scowl, and just shook his head. Hopeless. They were hopeless. “You two can’t even pretend to be interesting, can you?” 

Anders looked up at her. “Ready?” asked Anders.

She gripped the arm of her chair with her uninjured hand and nodded.

Leandra winced at the stream of curses that suddenly poured from the library. Where on Thedas had Anabel even learned that sort of language? 

 

“Fuck.” Anabel said feebly.

Anders glanced up. She’d gone pale, and her face had a light sheen of perspiration on it. He busied himself with rebandaging her wrist. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. That mage girl had been right. He was a monster. 

She reached out nudged him with her foot. “Stop it.” She ordered. “It’s not your fault.” She tentatively rotated her wrist and then smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

“He said something about a headache.” Anders said, still not looking at her.

Maker. He wasn’t even using Sebastian’s name. Just what had Sebastian said to him? “It’s nothing. I think it’s more a result of my lifestyle than any injury.” She joked. Not even a smile. “Anders.” She said softly. 

He finally looked at her, and she leaned forward in the chair and put her arms loosely around his neck, resting her forehead lightly against his. “I’m all right. That girl Ella is all right.” She stroked back a piece of hair that had slipped free from his ponytail and tucked it behind his ear. “Yesterday was a bad day. But the circumstances were extraordinary. Now we move on, okay?” 

For a moment he didn’t say anything and then he suddenly lunged out and dragged her off the chair and into his arms clutching her tightly. She ended up straddling his waist as he knelt there, burying his face in her neck. She couldn’t do anything but stroke his hair, and murmur, “It’s all right, you silly man.” She looked helplessly over his shoulder at Varric whose face was carefully impassive.

Varric watched them both. He wondered if Hawke had any clue how the mage felt about her. He doubted it. For a while he’d thought they might get together, and he’d been worried by it. He liked Blondie, liked him a lot but the man came with a whole lot of baggage, and underneath that bold joking exterior Hawke was surprisingly vulnerable. A romance with the mage could only end painfully. Varric had even considered having a talk with her, of warning her against it, but then Choir Boy had reappeared in their lives and that had been it for Hawke. 

“Excuse me, Messere but there’s a message for you.” 

She looked up at Bodahn standing there, seeming not to notice the fact that she was sitting on the floor with a six foot something mage wrapped around her. “Just leave it on the desk, Bodahn; I’ll look at it later.”

“Yes Messere.” He hesitated before adding. “It’s from the Viscount.” 

She frowned. “From the Viscount? Not from Bran?” Anders was finally releasing his grip on her, and she used her hand on his shoulder to push herself to her feet. 

“Yes, Messere.” Bodahn confirmed.

“Crap.” She said. So much for her plans of not doing anything. The one person in Kirkwall she truly couldn’t ignore. She walked over and opened the letter and immediately scowled. 

“Trouble, Hawke?” Asked Varric.

“Apparently the Viscount has a problem that he can only share with me.” She glanced over at him. “You want to tag along?”

“Of course.” 

She looked at Anders. “What about you? Fancy hobnobbing with the elite of Kirkwall?” 

“Are you sure you want me?”

She just rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t. I’m going to go clean up and change. Bodahn can you get us all something to eat? I have a feeling we’ll miss lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leandra wasn't in this chapter when I started it and somehow it turned out to be all about her. Apparently she needed her side of things to be told. On the up side the next chapter, in which something actually happens, should be up in a day or two 
> 
> Inspiration pictures can be found on my tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	27. It Can Only End in Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Viscount seeks Hawke's help with his son. Against her better instincts Hawke agrees.

Less than hour later they were in the Viscount’s offices.

Remembering the last time she’d been called here, Hawke had taken the time to put on her best armor, that deep red set with the black vines tooled down the front. After trying and failing to find enough hairpins to hold her hair neatly in a bun, she’d finally given up and put it in a braid, tying the end with a simple black ribbon. She’d looked in the mirror and been satisfied that not even Bran could find fault with her appearance.

As it turned out it probably hadn’t mattered what she looked like. For the first time ever, she hadn’t had to wait to be escorted in. 

“It must be serious if you’re not making me wait.” She teased, as she glanced sideways at him.

He didn’t offer a reply, not even one of his scathing one word reprimands. “Just what’s happened?” She asked, suddenly uneasy.

“A true disaster. There’s no pleasing anyone after this.” Bran said grimly. “Serrah Hawke, Excellency.” He left the office, closing the door behind him.

Viscount Dumar stood facing the window, but he turned when they entered. “It’s apparently not enough that the Qunari define my political life.” He said with no preamble. “Now they must also infect what I hold personal well. It’s Saemus. The life you saved he would squander by converting to the Qun.”

 _It’s going to take something big._ Oh Saemus, she thought, you idealistic idiot. “Does anyone else know?” She asked. 

“He made no secret of it. I’m sure he intended it as another of his ‘statements’ about closer relations with the Qunari.”

This would be a disaster. Saemus might believe he was taking a stand, but he vastly overestimated the security of his father’s position. This could be what lost the Viscount his throne, and Maker knew who Meredith would replace him with. 

“I wasn’t even aware they accepted humans into their ranks,” Dumar was saying, “But Bran tells me they accept anyone. I’m sure my son is quite the symbolic prize.”

Hawke felt a rush of impatience. Three years the Qunari had been living in the middle of his city and he hadn’t bothered to find out even the most basic facts about them, and somehow she was supposed to fix it. “I’m not sure what I can do, Excellency. He is of age.” She pointed out. “The decision seems rightly his.”

“I want to let him find his way.” The Viscount said earnestly. “I want to allow his idealism, but not blindly. If he persists in this… at best my opponents will claim my office is now in Qunari hands. At worst, I lose my son. The situation is … delicate.” 

“He’s politically dangerous you mean.” Said Hawke with a scowl, though she had been thinking the same thing moments before. Had she really reached the point where she was putting politics before people? 

Viscount Dumar seemed taken aback by the bluntness of her reply. “The office must remain strong, Hawke.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t see a good solution to this…it can only end in trouble.” 

“Fitting.” Said the Viscount. “That’s how it began.” A small smile came to his face as he looked at her. “Do you remember that day you brought Saemus back? The way you spoke to me? I hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. And then you winked at Saemus when Bran hurried you out of the door.” 

She could feel herself blushing. She hadn’t realized he’d seen the wink. “I spoke without thinking that day, I’m afraid. Something I’m all too prone to doing, though I hope I do it less now. I nearly gave poor Bran an apoplexy.”

“But you made Saemus laugh out loud, and that was something I hadn’t heard in quite a while. You said things that I needed to hear, things most people would have been too circumspect to tell me. It was the start of a new understanding between my son and me. You’re a good friend to him. He’s taken a great deal of inspiration from you, you know.”

“It’s easy to be a friend to Saemus. He’s a good man.” Sweet Andraste, let her figure out a way to fix this mess. She rubbed her hand across her forehead. What had she said so flippantly earlier? That her headaches were the result of her lifestyle. That would explain why she had one now. “Dragging him out of the compound won’t help anything.” She pointed out.

“My son is not foolish. He will listen to reason, and you are in the best position to offer that. Please, do what you can.”

Several scenarios played out in her head, none of them good. She couldn’t turn him down though.

_He’s taken a great deal of inspiration from you._

Marvelous. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Bran was waiting in the antechamber when they came out. His face showed nothing.

Hawke shook her head, giving him an exasperated glare. “How do you do that? How do you hide everything you’re thinking?”

His face remained unchanged. He didn’t speak.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” She demanded, irrationally irritated with him. “You’ve known Saemus his whole life. You’ve been at the Viscount’s side for years. You can’t be as unaffected by all of this as you appear. You must be thinking something.” 

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to reply and then he spoke. “I was wondering if actually going to war with the Qunari would cause as much damage as this disaster.”

She stared back at him. “You truly think it’s that bad?” She might not like Bran, but his mind was razor sharp and his grasp of politics was unmatched.

He didn’t answer her question. “Good Day, Serrah Hawke.” He said, and retreated to his own office shutting the door behind him.

She stared after him. “Shit.” She didn’t speak again until they were halfway down the stairs to Hightown.

“This is a fool’s errand.” She said abruptly.

Varric cast a sideways glance at her. “Let’s just hope the Arishok hasn’t gotten too attached to the boy.”

“Don’t you see?” Hawke said angrily. “If Saemus has truly converted, he’s one of them. There won’t be any question of his returning. Political expediency is not a phrase that translates.” She stopped and rubbed her head again. What in the Maker’s name was she even doing taking this on? “I’d like to bring Fenris along.” She finally said. “He knows more about the Qunari than any of us.”

Fenris wasn’t at his mansion and they ended up at the Hanged Man, waiting in Varric’s suite while the dwarf sent out his urchins to locate the elf.

Hawke didn’t mind. She was more than happy to put off the conversation with the Arishok. How would that conversation even go?

_Saemus’ Dad wants him to come home. Saemus converting to your belief system would embarrass him politically._

_It’s not that he’s against his converting, per se. He doesn’t really care for the Chantry himself. If Saemus kept it a secret it would be fine._

_No, he couldn’t be bothered to come in person. He sent me._

_What position do I hold in Kirkwall? None. None at all._

_I’ve no idea why he sent me._

She absentmindedly rubbed her head again and Anders suddenly rose and moved to sit in the chair beside her, leaning forward and putting his hands on her head, sending a soothing rush of healing magic out. The dull throbbing ceased instantly.

“Thanks.” She said with a grateful smile.

“Yes, well I’ve come to realize if I wait for you to ask for healing I’ll usually be waiting a very long time.” He smoothed back a stray curl before reluctantly pulling his hands away. “Why is that by the way?”

“Why is what?” She said absently. “Oh, the not asking for healing thing?” She gave it some thought. “It probably goes back to when I was little. Back then I usually only needed healing for one of two reasons: either I’d been doing something I shouldn’t have and I didn’t want to get in trouble for it, or I’d been competing with Carver in some way and I didn’t want him to know he’d won.”

He couldn’t help smiling at the image of a smaller feistier Hawke, even then refusing to admit any injury. “It’s a wonder you survived your childhood.”

“It’s a wonder I’m surviving my adulthood the way I’ve been going lately. I must be insane for even attempting this. How do I constantly end up in these sorts of situations?” She didn’t go looking for trouble. She just seemed to stumble upon it.

“A vastly overdeveloped savior complex. You think you can save everyone.“ 

“Is that what it is?” She asked with a wry smile.

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with for my still being here.” Anders tried to keep his tone light but he couldn’t quite meet her eye. 

She slid off her chair, so she was kneeling in front of him, between his legs, and he had to look at her. She took his hands in hers. “We already talked about this. You wouldn’t have killed that girl. As out of control as Justice was you still heard me. You stopped him.”

He couldn’t help a small shudder. Didn’t she realize that he’d only been able to take control after Justice had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground? Only after she’d been she’d been lying there so still that he’d thought she was dead. That was the image that had kept him awake most of the night. “I’m the perfect example of why mages are locked up.” He looked at her, his eyes haunted by the memory.

She actually smiled at him. “But that’s not true at all. Don’t you see? You stopped him. You’re the living proof that mages can control their powers.”

He doubted the Templars would see it that way. “I should never have asked you to come along. You shouldn’t have agreed to help me.”

She just shrugged and settled herself sideways between his legs leaning her head back against his knee. “You know I’ve wanted to help out for ages. I’m not going to moan and complain because you finally let me. Besides,” She said looking up at him with a gently teasing smile. “You know I can’t resist it when you go all hot headed revolutionary on me.”

He stared down at her. He wanted to say a thousand things, to try and explain just what it meant to him that even after yesterday she was still willing to believe in him. That she could still care about him. “You have too much faith in me.” He said roughly.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Here I am, about to rush headlong into another of my disastrous misadventures, and you’re willingly at my side, ready to rush right along with me. So which one of us has too much faith?” She asked archly. 

He couldn’t think of an answer.

She frowned suddenly. “Do you really think I have a savior complex?”

He couldn’t help giving a small laugh. “Yes. Definitely.”

“A savior complex and an invincibility complex both?” Her frown deepened. “I suppose it would explain a lot about the trouble I get into.”

“Yes. Luckily for me and half the poor sods in Kirkwall. So thank you.” 

“Let’s see if you still want to thank me at the end of the day.” This was going to be such a mess, she thought again. She leaned her head back against his knee and closed her eyes. After a moment she felt Anders’ hand on her hair, stroking gently. “That feels nice.” She said, without opening her eyes. Her lips curved into a smile.

Anders watched her hungrily. He wanted nothing more than to haul her up and kiss her until she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. To tell her how he woke up every morning, positively aching for her. That yes, it would be a disaster, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He looked at that lush mouth and he reached out a hand wanting to brush his thumb against it.

There was a sound at the door and he looked over to see Fenris and Varric walking in. Fenris looked at Hawke sitting on the floor between his legs, her head resting against his leg, the mage’s hand resting on her hair and he immediately scowled. 

Hawke felt Anders tense up and opened her eyes. As soon as she saw Fenris she pushed up from the floor and walked quickly over to him. “Thank Andraste. Did Varric tell you what’s happened?” She asked, continuing to speak before he could answer. “Saemus Dumar has converted to the Qun. I’ve been asked to try and talk to him, see if I can convince him to come back or barring that do something to diffuse the situation. Don’t ask me what. I was hoping you might be willing to come along to the compound?”

His eyebrow arched at the stream of words, but when she’d finished he simply nodded. “Yes.” 

She gave his arm a squeeze, and then turned and started down the stairs. Fenris glared again at Anders, Anders scowled right back at him, and Varric rolled his eyes at the both of them, before they all followed Hawke out of the tavern. 

Hawke didn’t talk as they left the Hanged Man and walked down the narrow streets heading towards the harbor. She was completely preoccupied, trying desperately to think of what she could possibly say to Saemus and the Arishok, and coming up with absolutely nothing. 

“I seem to recall you saying something a while ago...” She heard Fenris say behind her.

“Shut up.” Anders snapped at him.

“’I can control it.’ Wasn't that what you said?” taunted Fenris.

“So help me...” Anders ground out and she actually felt him gather his magic.

She turned around and gave them an exasperated look. “I will pay the two of you not to do this right now.” 

They both looked mutinous, but didn’t say anything further, which she decided to count as a victory.

“Come on.” She said rounding the corner. She stopped so abruptly that Anders walked right into her.

There was a group of about a dozen armed men and women waiting there, blocking the way down to the docks. Anabel reached for her weapons. 

“That’s the target!” One of them shouted excitedly. “They don’t reach the compound!” 

The fight didn’t last long. 

“You’d think these idiots would learn not to attack you. I mean, it’s been what, four years? Almost five? Has anyone ever succeeded?” Varric asked. 

Hawke just frowned as she knelt by one of the bodies. Poorly armed. Not terribly skilled with their weapons. Nothing on the bodies to indicate who they’d been working for.

“So who do you think this lot were? Anti-Qunari? Anti-Chantry? Or Saemus himself not wanting to be rescued?” Anders asked her.

“Saemus isn’t the type.” Hawke said absently. “How did they know to be here?” She asked, her puzzlement plain. “There are at least half a dozen different ways to get to the Docks from Hightown.”

“Their number was small.” Fenris commented.

“Too small.” She agreed. “Either they expected me to be on my own, or…”

“Or they had people on each route.” Finished Varric.

“Or both.” She chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it. “Someone’s been watching.” 

“Watching you?” Asked Anders.

“Watching me. Watching Saemus.” She looked at the bodies around them. “This wasn’t a spontaneous attack.” She didn’t know what to do.

“You think it’s a trap.” Fenris made it a statement.

“I think it’s a very carefully planned and laid out trap. And I can’t do anything now but walk right into it.” 

“But who’s the trap for? The Viscount? Saemus? You?” Varric seemed just as puzzled as she was.

“All three of us?” She suggested. That was absurd, surely. “Maybe I’m being paranoid?” She said looking around hopefully. None of her companions said anything. “Oh come on. Somebody tell me I’m being paranoid.”

No one did and she sighed. “You know I had a perfectly lovely day of sulking planned before all this came up.” She was briefly tempted to just turn around and go home. “Let’s go see what Saemus has to say for himself.”

The Qunari soldier stationed at the gates to the compound let them by without a word. That in itself was unusual. They usually had some grunted greeting that always sounded like a thinly veiled insult.

She tried to fight off the growing sense of dread, a task not easily accomplished while walking up to stand before the Arishok. There was no sign of Saemus.

The Arishok looked down at her, unsmiling. No clue there. He never smiled. “Serrah Hawke.” He said finally.

“Arishok.” She replied. “I’m here about the Viscount’s son.” 

He seemed unsurprised. “In four years I have made no threat, and yet fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear _bas_ still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose. The son has made a choice. You will not deny him that.”

If it were anyone but the Arishok she would accuse him of gloating. As it was she knew he was simply stating a fact. “The Viscount’s son as a convert is quite the prize. “ She commented idly.

He might have scowled a bit at that comment, she wasn’t certain. His expressions were harder to read than Bran’s. 

“The son made a free and educated choice. _Viddathari_ give up their lives for the certainty the Qun can offer. He chose the Qun.” 

She’d thought as much. “You wouldn’t take advantage of his connections?” If Saemus had to make this choice, if it were truly what he wanted, she wanted to be certain he wasn’t being used. 

“The Qun may demand the advantage.” The Arishok admitted. “I do not. It was his choice to be educated. He is not a prisoner or a slave. You will not deny him this.”

Saemus wasn’t a prisoner or a slave, but he was a pawn, a carefully played piece that someone had left open and vulnerable in whatever this game was. She wanted to be sure he was aware of that. “It’s not my place to deny or allow. As you say, it’s his choice. But I would like to speak with him if I could.”

She saw a definite scowl then. “He is not even here. He went to his father. Ask the Viscount why he would send you and a letter both.” He didn’t bother to conceal the contempt he felt for the Viscount.

Her earlier uneasiness only increased. “That doesn’t make sense. It was his father who asked me to come here.” 

“They are meeting in the Chantry.” Said the Arishok, dismissively. “A last pointless appeal, I assume.” 

The Viscount would never have gone to the Chantry. She turned to the others, her apprehension plain on her face. 

“The Viscount’s relations with the Chantry are strained. He would not involve them.” said Fenris said, saying what they were all thinking.

And instantly she knew who was behind all of this. She raised her eyes to the Arishok. “Mother Petrice.” It was obvious.

The Arishok’s eyes narrowed. “A suspect in many things.” He said.

They stared at each other for a moment before the Arishok spoke again. “If she has threatened someone under my command again there is but one response.” He warned. “ _Viddathari_ are of the Qun. This offense will have an answer.”

She nodded her agreement. “I’ve had just about enough of Petrice, several times over.” 

“Hawke.” Anders cautioned.

She didn’t let him finish. “Saemus is my friend. If she’s harmed him…” She turned back to the Arishok her gaze unwavering. “If she’s harmed him then this offense will have an answer.”

Understanding flashed between them. The Arishok inclined his head towards her. Without another word she turned and walked away leaving the others to scramble after her.

The sun was already setting as they tromped back up the stairs back towards Lowtown.

“So we go to the Chantry?” Asked Varric.

“No.” She said, not breaking stride. “We go back to the Viscount.”

“Of course we do.” Said Varric. “Why is that, again?”

“I want to bring Aveline and the guard in with us.”

Anders actually stopped walking. “You want to bring armed guards into the Chantry?”

“Yes.” She kept walking.

He shook his head as he jogged to catch up with them. Well good luck with that, he thought.

 

Viscount Dumar frowned, obviously not understanding. “But I sent no letter.” 

Hawke briefly closed her eyes. How could she make him see the urgency of the matter? It was his own son. “No, Your Excellency. But someone did. Someone who intends Saemus harm.”

The Viscount shook his head. “I cannot send armed guards into a house of worship.” He protested. “You do not understand the fury it would cause. I can’t be seen to move against them.” 

“You can’t just sit here while your son may be in danger.” She insisted. 

“He could come to no harm in the Chantry, surely.” The Viscount made it a question.

She thought of how many bodies she had left there herself. “Please.” She asked again. “Let me bring Aveline and some of the guard at least. Half a dozen, no more.” She would take anything at this point.

“No.” He shook his head. “I cannot risk it. Even at this cost.”

She looked away praying for patience.

“Please Hawke. You could do it. Find him. You are the only option I have.”

No. She thought as they left the office. I’m the only option you’re willing to use. 

She stopped by Aveline’s office to let her know about the situation and then had to waste more time arguing her out of coming along in defiance of the Viscount’s wishes, and promising to send word if it were necessary. 

She prayed she wouldn’t need to.

 

The evening service was over by the time they got to the Chantry. The doors would be locked now. She wondered once again if she should have sent a message to Sebastian, telling him what was going on. She’d worried that it would tip off Petrice somehow if she did. She didn’t know how many in the Chantry secretly, or even not so secretly, agreed with Petrice’s stance against the Qunari. 

Of course given the way the rest of today’s events had played out, Petrice probably knew exactly what they were doing and where they were. She had been a step ahead of them all day. Probably for longer than that.

They reached the huge doors, and she pulled out her lock picks and inserted one carefully into the lock. She moved it to make room for a second and frowned.

“Want me to give it a try, Hawke?” Varric asked.

“No. It’s not that.” She pulled out the pick, and putting a hand on the door, pushed. It swung open. 

She closed her eyes. “This is such a bad idea.” She said softly before turning to the others. “Be on your guard. I have no idea for what.” 

The Chantry seemed deserted. The nave was dark, with only a few candles lit up by the chancel. She spotted a figure there, kneeling on the ground. Not moving.

Was it? She began to walk faster and then to run when the figure still didn’t move. “Saemus?” She called out. There was no response and she ran up the stairs. Had they drugged him? 

She heard the others behind her as she ran up the stairs. She reached out a hand and hesitated, suddenly afraid, suddenly knowing. Her hand began to shake even before she touched him and his body collapsed to the ground. His eyes stared sightlessly up at her.

He was dead.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She just stood there, staring down at him, trying to make sense of it. 

“Serrah Hawke. Look at what you have done.” 

If Petrice had been next to her, instead standing in the nave below her Anabel would have killed her. As it was all she could do was scream her outrage from the railing. “Are you insane? Your plans have fallen to outright murder?” 

She might not even have spoken for all the attention Petrice paid. “To pounce upon the Viscount’s son, a repentant convert in the Chantry itself.” She could see a small satisfied smile on the woman’s face, as she stood there surrounded b her followers. “A crime with no excuse. Your Qunari masters will finally answer.” 

“You murdered the Viscount’s son! What could possibly justify that?” 

Petrice’s eyes narrowed. “He deliberately denied the Maker.” She hissed. “How many would follow if he went unpunished? But even this sympathizer will inspire the faithful when his brutal murder is revealed at the hands of their puppet. All the faithful. Not just zealots, or the unknowing, but the true majority.”

Anabel let out a harsh laugh. “Great plan, Petrice. Until people start dying in a war with the Qunari. You idiot! You won’t get the Qunari ousted. You’ll get a slaughter, on both sides.”

Petrice actually looked pleased at the idea. “To die untested is the real crime. People need the opportunity to defend their faith. Starting with you.” She turned to face her followers. “Earn your reward in this life and the next! These heretics must die!” Her followers charged past her, and Anabel saw Petrice retreat up the stairs, fleeing the battle as she had before.

Most of Petrice’s followers weren’t even soldiers, Hawke realized as she fought them. There was one fully armored and armed Templar. Most of the rest were unarmored, but they fought fiercely, as if their salvation depended on it. Petrice had done her job. 

It was an ugly fight, one Hawke was sure that would haunt her; slaughtering these deluded fools.

The Templar with them was the last to fall. Fenris charged him, knocking him off balance and Hawke was on him in a moment, plunging her dagger into his throat. 

She rolled off him and lay there for a moment trying to catch her breath.

“Do you see your Grace? Traitors, attacking the very core of the Chantry. They defile at every step.”

Petrice. Hawke rolled quickly to her feet daggers at the ready. Petrice was moving slowly down the stairs, the Grand Cleric at her side.

A carefully laid out trap. Either she would have been dead at the hands of the faithful, blamed for Saemus’ murder, or she would be found standing in the chantry surrounded by corpses. 

“There is death in every corner, young mother. It is as you predicted. All too well.” Elthina’s voice was curiously flat.

Hawke quickly sheathed her daggers. Her hands were stained red with blood. Shit. She quickly wiped them on her leather trousers. How must this look to her?

 _How many murdered Templars am I expected to overlook?_ Sebastian’s words seemed to echo in her head and she could only pray that he wouldn’t appear. 

She ignored Petrice and fixed her gaze on the Grand Cleric. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but you must know the truth about what happened here.” 

“Don’t you spout your Qunari filth.” Petrice hissed. “This is a hand of the Divine.”

“I have ears, Mother Petrice. The Maker would have me use them.” Elthina said sharply. She turned back to the girl in front of her. “Tell me what’s happened, Hawke.”

She felt a sudden lump in her throat. She’d been afraid that Elthina wouldn’t be willing to even hear her out. “Saemus Dumar is dead. Murdered here, in your name.”

“I’m sure my name won’t like that.” Elthina said evenly. She turned to the woman beside her. “Petrice?”

Apparently Petrice had expected a different reaction from the Grand Cleric. “Saemus Dumar was a convert.” She stammered. “He came here to repent and was murdered.” 

“It’s a lie your grace.” Said Hawke. “Saemus was murdered to set people up against the Qunari.” 

“This is no longer a matter of heathens squatting down at the docks.” Petrice insisted. “People are leaving us to join them.”

“And we must pray for them like any other.” Elthina said calmly.

“They deny the Maker!” Said Petrice, outraged.

“And you diminish him, even as you claim his side.” snapped Elthina. “Andraste did not volunteer for the flame.” It was the first time Anabel had ever heard the Grand Cleric raise her voice, but when she spoke again, her voice was calm. “Serrah Hawke. You do the Viscount’s bidding?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

“The young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she.” She turned and began walking back up the stairs, leaving Petrice staring after her.

“Grand Cleric?” Said Petrice, in a disbelieving voice.

Elthina didn’t respond, just continued up the stairs. 

“Grand Cleric?” Petrice repeated.

There was the sound of a bow releasing and Petrice looked down in surprise at the arrow suddenly protruding from her chest. She fell to her knees in an eerie echo of how they’d found Saemus, looking up in surprise at the Qunari who emerged from the shadows, bow in hand. 

No one moved or spoke as he aimed and released a second arrow. Hawke watched as it went straight into Petrice’s eye, feeling curiously numb as the woman collapsed to the floor of the Chantry, lifeless. 

She turned her head slowly to look at the Qunari. His expression was contemptuous. “We protect those of the Qun. We do not abandon our own.” He turned and left.

Did they think she had abandoned Saemus? 

“Please, Hawke.” 

Anabel looked up, startled to find Elthina still on the stairs. “Send for Viscount Dumar.” She said, still not turning around, and continued up the stairs without waiting for an answer. They watched her disappearing form in silence.

“Varric.” Hawke said softly. “Would you go and let Aveline know what’s happened? She can tell Bran. The Viscount should hear about it from a friend.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just turned and walked slowly up the stairs to the chancel.

She knelt down beside Saemus. His face was strangely serene. She reached out with a shaky hand and closed his eyes. He just looked asleep now. She wasn’t sure if she liked that any better. If you’d been murdered it should show, shouldn’t it? Everyone should see it. Everyone should scream out at the injustice of it. 

She thought of his earnestness. His open mindedness. His willingness to experience everything new. To embrace it.

He would have been a brilliant leader. But Kirkwall hadn’t given him that chance. 

She could hear more people in the Chantry now, could hear exclamations of horror and dismay. She ignored it. 

She reached out and took Saemus’ hand in hers. Already cold. She held it anyway. She wondered how long he’d been dead. 

If she’d been faster, if she hadn’t waited to find Fenris, or if she’d gone straight there instead of going to his father to try and get the guard would she have been able to save him? 

She thought about all those dinners they’d gotten through together. How much fun it had been to make him laugh. To get him to break the rules. She thought about that impromptu picnic on the roof of Lady Tulli’s house. They’d lain on their backs and looked up at the stars, making up constellations when they’d realized neither one of them knew anything about astronomy. 

_He’s taken a great deal of inspiration from you, you know._

“I’m so sorry, Saemus.” She whispered.

She heard someone come up the stairs, and turned, thinking that it might be the Viscount, but it wasn’t.

It was Sebastian. He stood there, looking at her, grief plain on his face. 

She stared at him for a moment before she turned back to Saemus and let go of his hand, laying it gently at his side. She leaned forwards pressing a kiss to his forehead, and smoothing his hair back from his face. That ridiculous hair. Always sticking up in every direction. 

Her throat tightened. She’d intended to go and speak with Sebastian, but she suddenly didn’t want to leave Saemus alone. She took his hand again, holding it between her own as if that might somehow warm it. 

She felt rather than saw Sebastian come and kneel beside her. “I want to wait with him. Just until his father gets here.” She explained, not looking at him. “He shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Might I wait with you?” He asked softly.

She nodded. “You were his friend too.” 

After a moment she spoke again, still not looking at him. “I killed another Templar. I left another pile of bodies in the Chantry. I’m sorry.” 

He stared at her. She couldn’t possibly believe he’d be angry with her. “Ana…” he started to say. 

“I didn’t want to.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “They weren’t even fighters, just deluded idiots who’d listened to Petrice.” He saw her hands tighten around Saemus’. “She killed him.” She said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Elthina had come to his door and told him what had happened, had asked for his assistance in dealing with the aftermath. He’d rushed to the nave and seen the bodies lying there, seen Petrice lying dead with two Qunari arrows piercing heart and head. A brief conversation with Fenris had filled in the missing pieces of all that had happened today. 

“I was too late.” Anabel said, so softly that he barely heard her.

“No.” He said, quietly but firmly. “What happened here was not your fault.” 

“I should have realized what he was planning.” She insisted. “That day at the café. The things he said. I should have noticed.” 

“Neither of us could have predicted this.” He looked over at Saemus’ body. He could hardly imagine what the repercussions of the day’s events might be. Saemus converting to the Qun. A Chantry mother responsible for his murder. Petrice herself murdered by the Qunari , in heart of the Chantry. And Anabel in the middle of it all, trying valiantly to push back the darkness. “You should have sent for me.” 

“I couldn’t. I knew Petrice was involved. I was afraid sending word to the Chantry would tip her off. Or that she’d try and hurt you somehow.” She let go of Saemus’ hand, smoothing his hair once again before turning to face Sebastian. 

There was hardness in her eyes that he hadn’t ever seen there before. 

“I didn’t kill Petrice, but I wish to Andraste I could have.” She said fiercely. “I wish I could have cut her throat and watched her bleed out. I wish I could have seen her choke on her own blood.” 

“Anabel.” He said softly.

“I do.” She insisted. “She died too quickly. She left too much pain behind to have died that quickly.” Her mouth trembled as she wondered what Saemus had thought before he died. Had it been quick? Had he even known why he was being killed? Had Petrice made him suffer?

Sebastian watched the emotions play over her face. He didn’t say anything, just reached out and pulled her into his arms. 

She stiffened, resisting. “No. We’re not supposed to touch each other.” 

“Hush.” He said, drawing her close against him.

Her face was pressed against his chest and for a moment she let herself inhale that mixture of incense and soap and herbs that was so uniquely Sebastian. “We said we wouldn’t.” She protested. She put one hand on his chest to push herself away from him, but it slid beneath his outer robe and she could suddenly feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand. Her whole body seemed to turn towards it, as if she could somehow draw strength from it. She could hear people moving around in the nave. “Someone will see.” She said feebly against his chest even as her arms moved to slide around his back. 

His hold on her only tightened and she felt his lips press against the top of her head. “I don’t care.” He said, almost fiercely. And he truly didn’t. He just wanted that unbearable pain and anger gone from her eyes. 

She closed her eyes and let herself be held for just a little while.

There was a sudden clamor at the doors, the sounds of armored feet on the stone floor of the Chantry. They came apart reluctantly. Sebastian got to his feet and reached down a hand to help her up. Looking over the railing they saw the Viscount, and Bran, along with Aveline and at least a dozen guards. There were probably more outside.

She looked up at Sebastian to find him watching her carefully.

“I’m all right.” She said quietly.

“I know you are. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He reached out and touched her cheek lightly and she gave him a sad smile. 

They turned together as the Viscount and Bran came up the stairs. 

 

It was the middle of the night before they were able to leave the Chantry. 

Anabel felt completely drained. Between them she and Bran had finally managed to convince a weeping Dumar to leave Saemus to the sisters of the Chantry so they could prepare him for the funeral. Sebastian had promised that he would make sure Saemus wasn’t left alone. The Viscount’s grief had been truly heartbreaking. 

"Nobody came out of that one looking good.” Varric commented as they walked out into the Plaza. 

“So what happens now?” Asked Anders.

She thought back to the conversation she’d had with the Viscount. 

_Now more than ever the city needs a leader, Excellency._

_It does. And I am no longer that person. I have already failed where it mattered most._

He seemed not to care what happened to Kirkwall.

“The Arishok’s the one to watch now. So we clean up, and wait for trouble to find us.” She said with a sigh.

She didn’t doubt for a moment that it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters may be coming slower for a while as I for some reason decided it would be a good idea to spill a glass of soda on my laptop. It responded by ceaselessly typing the letter 'c', and when that finally stopped the only key that was working was the 'h' and the backslash. 
> 
> I thought briefly that I would be unable to retrieve any of my writing but my husband managed to get all of it onto his computer through the wifi. This is why I love him. I'm currently writing on my old laptop which is incredibly slow, and held together by duct tape. Really. 
> 
>  
> 
> Inspiration pictures and some babbling for this piece can be found on my Tumblr 
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	28. You Need to Be Prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Viscount's actions during his son's funeral surprise everyone, but no one more than Hawke. Anabel finally confronts Leandra.

Hawke’s irritation with her mother had only increased during their walk to the Chantry on the morning of Saemus’ funeral. Of course everything seemed to be irritating her today. 

The nobles milling about the Chantry plaza, chatting idly, as if the funeral were some kind of party. 

The lesser denizens of Kirkwall, who were obviously not attending the funeral but had come to gawk and gape at those who were, as if it were a play or a freak show.

Even the weather was annoying her. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was that deep crisp blue that you only get in late autumn. It was the kind of weather that made you want spend the day outside running in a meadow or having a picnic, because you knew that there wouldn’t be many more days like it before winter arrived and you were stuck inside.

Anabel wished she were doing just that. She wished she were doing anything other than going to this service. Saemus would have hated the whole spectacle. It would be a far more fitting tribute to go out to the Wounded Coast with a bottle of something and toast his memory. 

For a moment she considered doing just that: turning and walking away from this farce of a funeral, offering the assembled nobles a hearty ‘screw you’ and just leaving them standing there, gaping after her. Only the knowledge that Sebastian was waiting for her inside the Chantry, that he was expecting her, and that he would be quietly, unquestioningly offering her whatever support she might need kept her going up the stairs.

“I cannot believe you’re actually doing it. You’re actually wearing leathers to the funeral of the son of the Viscount of Kirkwall.” Leandra said yet again. It was at least the fifth time she’d repeated it since they’d left the mansion.

Anabel yanked open the door to the Chantry and walked inside. “Give it a rest, would you Mother?” She said, a little more loudly than she had intended. Several heads turned to look at them. 

“People are staring.” Leandra insisted in a hissed whisper.

Anabel didn’t even spare them a glance. “Let them stare. I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not. Not today.” She didn’t point out the obvious: that no matter what she’d worn today people would be staring at her. 

Rumors were rife about what had happened that night. One said the Qunari had murdered both Saemus and Petrice, and Hawke had been too late to prevent it, though she’d left a score of bodies in her wake attempting to do so. Another said Petrice had been possessed by a demon, and Hawke had been forced to kill her and the demon both, but had been unable to save Saemus. And yet another that Saemus had been so corrupted by the time he’d spent with the Qunari that he had tried to kill the Grand Cleric, but Petrice had stepped in and sacrificed herself, thus giving Hawke the chance to kill Saemus and save Elthina.

No one who had known either Saemus or Petrice believed the last one.

And as much as Bran had tried to keep it quiet, the word of Saemus’ conversion to the Qun was already a hushed whisper throughout the city. There were more than a few saying that he shouldn’t even be allowed a Chantry burial, but no one had been brave enough to say it to Elthina or the Viscount, so the funeral was going ahead as planned.

The interesting thing about all the tales circulating was that in every version, Hawke was the hero.

She hated it. She’d failed at every step and somehow she was the only one to come out untarnished. She looked around, searching for Sebastian, trying her best to ignore the curious glances being sent her way.

Leandra watched her daughter with a small frown on her face. She couldn’t accuse her of scowling or sulking, indeed the girl’s face was a perfectly composed, dignified mask. It looked completely foreign on Anabel.

When Leandra had heard what had happened to the Viscount’s boy she’d thought she’d have to deal with one of Anabel’s emotional tantrums. She’d always found them exhausting, even when Anabel was small. Anabel had never simply wept the way most girls did. There was no piteous sobbing or crying daintily into her pillow, not for her daughter. When her daughter was upset she was much more likely to rant and rail and scream her unhappiness to the world, to make viciously sarcastic remarks before charging off in a temper and eventually returning home hours later reeking of alcohol or with bruised knuckles, or more often than not, both.

This was different. Anabel had just …withdrawn. Ever since the boy’s murder she had been detached and distant. Cold. It was entirely unlike her and Leandra had found herself provoking the girl, saying things she knew would annoy her, trying to get some kind of response. She was truly appalled by her daughter’s choice of attire, that wasn’t a lie, but a part of her admitted that her nagging on the subject was at least partly an attempt to make Anabel lose her temper, to make her show something, feel something. Anabel had loved that Dumar boy: he had been one of the few nobles in Kirkwall who was possibly odder than she was. Leandra knew she was hurting, so why wouldn’t she show it? Blessed Andraste, at this point she’d be grateful to see any kind of reaction from her.

As if her prayer had been heard, there was a sudden flash of emotion in Anabel’s blue green eyes; relief and longing and happiness all at the same time, and Leandra knew, even before she turned to look that it had to be Sebastian Vael. 

She watched as the Prince walked up to them, the expression in his eyes mirroring Anabel’s almost exactly. He quite correctly greeted Leandra first, but his attention had turned back to Anabel almost before the greeting had left his mouth.

He didn’t touch her, didn’t even take her hand but the way he looked at her he might as well have walked up to her, taken her in his arms and kissed her. And Anabel thought he didn’t want her?

Anabel stared up into Sebastian’s blue eyes – as brilliantly blue as the sky outside and she immediately felt some of her tension ease.

“I’m all right.” She said softly, in answer to his unasked question.

Sebastian suspected that it was a half truth at best. He’d been so busy the last few days, helping Elthina to deal with the fallout of Petrice’s plot as well as assisting in organizing the funeral, that he hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time with Anabel as he would have liked. What little he had seen of her had caused him concern. He hadn’t heard her laugh since before that evening and the few smiles he had glimpsed were wistful, melancholy things. He looked at her carefully.

Her bright curls were pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head. It was a hairstyle that would have been too severe for anyone less beautiful. On Anabel it only emphasized just how truly striking she was. Unlike the other women here who had taken the opportunity to pull out their most elaborate mourning dresses, she was wearing an elegant set of black leathers, completely unadorned, high to the neck, and long sleeved and polished to a glossy sheen. It made her vivid coloring, the flame colored hair and blue-green eyes and the rich redness of her mouth stand out even more, and made her white skin seem even paler. But it wasn’t just that which was so striking today.

There was something about the way she was carrying herself that stood out. She seemed more serious, more dignified, more, well, noble, though she would hate to hear it put that way. In spite of her small size, she looked a force to be reckoned with.

His lips curved into wry smile as he realized what it was: she’d come to the funeral prepared to do battle. Anyone who had fought beside her or against her had seen her like this. It was the way she looked at the very moment before she drew her daggers and attacked. He doubted any of the nobles of Kirkwall had seen it before. He saw several of them literally stop in their tracks and turn to take a second look at her. 

Leandra was apparently less impressed by her daughter’s appearance. “Please Sebastian, you tell her how inappropriate it is to attend the service dressed like this. She won’t listen to a word I say on the subject.“ 

“I think Celia Reinhardt is trying to get your attention.” Anabel suggested without taking her eyes from Sebastian. 

Leandra scowled at her, but turned and walked away to join her friends. 

Sebastian’s eyes searched her face. “How are you truly?” He asked.

“Truly?” Suddenly all the pain and regret was there on the surface, and she reached out a hand as if to touch him but quickly let it drop to her side with a small sigh. “If I can make it through this service without leaping to my feet and screaming ‘hypocrites’ at the top of my lungs, before charging out the door, I’ll consider it a good day. I can just feel everyone itching to ask me for the ‘true story’ of what happened. ” She was dreading the moment someone did.

“Yes.” He said sympathetically. “I’ve already had a few questions about it myself.” 

“But I’m sure when they asked you, you didn’t just haul back and punch them in the face, which is my inclination right now.”

“No.” He agreed. “But I might have thought about it for a moment.”

There was a glimpse of a smile for just a second, but it quickly disappeared. She looked around at the assembled nobles. “Leandra’s right. I should have dressed properly. I have a mourning dress. Mother ordered it for me at some point. It was something she insisted every proper lady needed in her wardrobe. It’s hideous. Black and beribboned and ruffled beyond belief. It makes me look like a particularly gloomy and vastly over-decorated cupcake. It was all laid out to wear this morning. Orana was all ready to lace me into it, but I just couldn’t put it on. I couldn’t dress myself up like some proper Hightown miss. Not at Saemus’ funeral.” It had seemed the right decision this morning, but seeing the way everyone was staring at her, she was beginning to wonder if her little act of rebellion had really been that important. She turned to Sebastian. “Does that make any sense at all, or am I just a toddler, stamping her foot at the world?”

His eyes were kind as he smiled gently at her. “It makes perfect sense. And I think Saemus would understand it better than anyone. He’d laugh to see you here like this. He’d think it was a fine joke.”

She smiled back at him, the first real smile he’d seen since before that night. “He probably would. And then he’d never let me forget that I’d done it. He’d bring it up at every party.” 

“I’ve missed seeing you smile.” He told her.

The smile took on a wistfulness he hadn’t wanted to see. “I’ve been a misery to be around I’m afraid. Just ask Leandra.” 

Sebastian glanced over at Leandra and her friends just in time to overhear Lady Reinhardt remark in a loud voice. “He was always such an odd boy, of course, wandering around on his own, and so awkward in social situations. One wonders how truly suited he would have been to be Viscount.”

 _The bitch_. Anabel’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She would not make a scene. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

“They say the Maker works in mysterious ways.” Lady Reinhardt continued. “Perhaps this was His way of solving that little problem.”

Anabel's nails dug into her palms and she was clenching her teeth together so hard that her jaw was beginning to ache, just to keep herself from charging at the stupid cow, tearing those ridiculous false curls from her head and screaming at her that Saemus was worth a hundred of her.

“They say that his relations with the Qunari went beyond just friendship, if you know what I mean.”

Anabel actually saw red. She’d never understood that expression before. She took one step towards Lady Reinhardt before Sebastian, who had been watching her carefully, put an arm around her waist and quickly whisked her into the nearby storage room, closing the door behind them.

She stood there, fists clenched, eyes glassy with tears, breathing hard, trying to calm herself.

“She’s a foolish, thoughtless woman, Anabel.” He told her.

“It’s not right.” She managed to get out between clenched teeth. “It’s not right that she should be here and he isn’t.” She raised her head and looked at him. “They all feel that way, don’t they? And since he isn’t able to defend himself that’s how he’ll be remembered. That odd boy who wasn’t suited to be Viscount. He deserves so much better than that.”

“He does.”

She swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to be here.” She said, so quietly that he barely heard it.

He moved so he stood directly in front of her and smoothed back a lock of hair that had escaped. “You and I will make sure that he’s remembered for more than that, Anabel. Elthina and Bran and everyone who cared for Saemus will make sure of that.” Sebastian promised.

She looked up at him. His gaze was steady, reassuring. Soothing. She let herself drink it in and then nodded slowly. “Yes. We will.”

He saw her shoulders straighten and her chin lift. He watched as she summoned that imposing that dignity he seen before, and wrapped it around herself like a cloak.

“Shall we?” She asked.

He smiled and pushed open the door so she could walk through it ahead of him.

There were a few curious glances directed their way as they emerged from the room together, to which neither paid any attention.

Anabel looked around at the assembled crowd. “Look at them. They have no inkling of the danger the city is in. They don’t want to know. I sometimes understand why the Qunari hold us in such contempt.” 

“Have you had any word from the Arishok?” Sebastian asked.

She hesitated before she replied, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. “I went to the Qunari compound yesterday, actually.” 

He looked at her sharply. “On your own?”

“Yes.” She admitted.

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He was beginning to agree with Ander’s insistence that she thought she was invulnerable. After all that had happened she just strolled into the Qunari compound by herself. It was such a very Anabel thing to do. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake her until her teeth rattled in her head.

“You don’t need to look like that. Nothing happened. The Arishok wouldn’t even see me. For the first time in four years I was refused admittance to the compound.” She said bitterly.

“Do you think he blames you for Saemus’s murder?” He was surprised at how calm he managed to sound.

She shrugged as if it didn’t bother her. “I think he blames Kirkwall. And I think he’s done talking.”

“Is the situation truly that dire?” He asked with a frown.

She just nodded. “Oh yes. If this incident hasn’t lit the powder, then the next one will. Petrice may yet achieve her goal.” She looked at the crowd around her. How many of Petrice’s followers were still working to turn people against Qunari? How many in Kirkwall had actually converted to the Qun? How long before the two groups would clash, and how many innocents would be caught in the middle? How many would she fail to save this time? 

Sebastian watched the emotions cross her face. He could tell she was going over every scenario, thinking of everything that might go wrong, of everything that might happen, trying to formulate a plan to keep everyone from harm. “Anabel.” He said softly. “It isn’t your responsibility to solve every problem in Kirkwall.”

She frowned. Was that what she was doing? It felt like it some days. “No one else is foolish enough to attempt it, you mean.” 

“I don’t know if I would have put it quite that way.” He said, unable to keep a small smile from his lips. “But yes.”

She gave a small groan. “My brain won’t stop. Distract me with something. When do you leave for Tantervale?”

“This afternoon.”

Hawke frowned. “That soon?” 

“I’ve already delayed the meeting because of the funeral. And the sooner I leave, the sooner I can return.” 

“Yes. Of course.” She’d known he was going. Why was it suddenly making her uneasy? She looked up at him. “I’m going to miss you.” She confessed, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that seemed to be slowly uncoiling inside her. 

He couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll miss you too.” 

She had an unexpected urge to fling her arms around him and say, _don’t go_ or _take me with you_. She was suddenly anxious and apprehensive and it had nothing to do with the Qunari or Saemus. She didn’t know what was causing it. She waited for the feeling to subside, but it didn’t. It actually seemed to increase. She gave a small shiver.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes.” She said, still frowning. She didn’t want him to leave. Was it just worry that something might happen to him in Tantervale? That must be it, but it felt like something else. She shook her head as if trying to clear it. Sebastian was staring at her with a worried expression. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge I think. It must be getting to me. Everything that’s happened. Saemus. This funeral. Your leaving.” 

Before he could reassure her that he would be fine, Leandra reappeared at Anabel’s side. 

“Well, Lady Reinhardt is scandalized by the armor, so if that’s what you were trying to achieve you’ve succeeded.”

“It’s a start.” Said Anabel watching as Aveline walked towards them.

“Hawke.” Aveline nodded at Leandra and Sebastian before turning back to Anabel.

“Aveline.” Her eyes ran over the Guard Captain, taking in the parade armor that she and Bran had argued about all those years ago. “Nice armor. I can’t believe you caved.”

Aveline gave her a reproving look. “I choose my battles, Hawke. Today wasn’t the day to argue with the Seneschal. He feels Saemus’ loss as well.”

Bran had been the Seneschal since before Saemus was born. Hawke didn’t imagine the Viscount would have been involved in those day to day decisions of raising a child – what tutors to hire, or what nursemaids, progress reports and such. It had probably all been Bran. Though his perfect political mask would never show it, Aveline was right: he was no doubt hurting today. “You’re right.” She apologized. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Aveline gave her a penetrating look. “What about you? How are you holding up?” 

“Me?” Hawke said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m prickly as the Void, but you don’t have to worry. I promise I’ll behave. Just let me lurk in a dark corner in the back, so that I can mutter curses under my breath and flee without anyone noticing if I get truly desperate.”

Aveline frowned. “As fine as that idea sounds, I’m afraid I can’t. The Viscount’s requested that you join him for the duration of the service.”

Hawke looked absolutely appalled. “Why for the Maker’s sake?” She demanded loudly.

“Anabel! Please remember where you are.” Snapped Leandra.

Anabel ignored her. “No. I am not putting myself on display for all of Kirkwall to gawk at.” She declared vehemently.

“Hawke.” Began Aveline.

“No.” She repeated. “Absolutely not.” She sounded panicked even to herself. 

Both Leandra and Aveline opened their mouths to argue but before they could say anything, Sebastian had put his hand gently on Hawke’s arm. She looked up at him, ready to argue with him as well.

“The Viscount knows how close you were to his son. Perhaps he needs the comfort of having someone else who loved Saemus nearby. Saemus loved his father. Don’t you think he’d want someone there to help him through this?” 

Anabel closed her eyes briefly. Trust Sebastian to come up with a reason she couldn’t argue with. When she opened her eyes again her expression was resolute. “All right.” She agreed. “For Saemus. I’ll do it for Saemus.” 

 

 

There was hushed whispering as she walked in with the Viscount. She’d thought she’d just be hidden amongst the Viscount’s people, just part of the group, but no, the Viscount had insisted she walk directly behind him, beside Bran of all people. 

When Aveline had taken her to the Viscount, when she’d seen him, any inclination to protest had vanished. He seemed almost more broken than he had the night of the murder. Just the sight of her coming into the chamber, and he'd burst into tears. She gone to him without thinking, and then had the surreal experience of holding the Viscount of Kirkwall in her arms while he wept like a small child. All she had to do was remember how much Saemus had cared for his father. If her being near did anything at all to ease the man’s grief she would do it willingly.

When they reached the dais that had been set up, she went to the chairs on the left, as Bran had instructed. Once the Viscount and the Grand Cleric were seated, everyone else could take their seats, and the choir began the Chant of Light. She breathed a small sigh of relief. The beginning of the end. She could make it through this.

The Viscount suddenly turned in his throne and gestured Bran to his side. The two men held a whispered exchange that seemed to render the Seneschal momentarily speechless. He quickly recovered and began to speak again, but the Viscount dismissed him with a curt movement of his hand. For just a second Bran looked taken aback, but then his careful courtier’s mask slipped securely back into place. He turned abruptly, and signaled to one of the guards to follow him.

To Anabel’s consternation he walked straight to her. 

“The Viscount wishes you to sit beside him.” He informed her, his face expressionless.

She just stared at him.

Bran looked at the space above her head. “If you would rise Serrah Hawke, the guardsman could carry your chair for you.”

Still not understanding, she rose to her feet. The guardsman lifted her chair and carried it to the center of the dais, placing it to the right of the Viscount’s throne. At a terse instruction from Bran, the chair was moved closer to the throne and just slightly forward. She could hear the whispering start up again. Bran looked at Hawke, his face entirely unreadable, and gestured to the seat. Still at a loss, Hawke sat.

The whisper grew to a low hum of conversation, and ran throughout the Chantry. Even some of the voices singing the Chant faded away. Hawke looked at Bran trying to understand what was going on, but he was already retreating to his own chair behind the Viscount’s throne. The Viscount met her eye briefly, giving a small nod of his head before looking away again. The whispers continued, and everyone seemed to be staring at her. What on Thedas was she missing? She saw Lady Reinhardt lean and whisper something to Lady Tulli and they both stared at her as if she was an oddity on display at a carnival. She felt a flash of her earlier anger. She wasn’t going to be intimidated. She was an Amell and a Hawke. She’d accomplished things they couldn’t even begin to understand. She lifted her chin defiantly, determined not to give anyone a reason to criticize. Just because she’d been forced to play the role of noble didn’t mean she couldn’t do a good job of it.

 

When the service was finished, Sebastian waited for Anabel to make her way through the crowds of nobles suddenly eager to speak to her. He'd been as surprised as everyone else by what the Viscount had done and he was certain Anabel didn’t realize the significance of it.

Had the man made the request of Anabel himself, or simply ordered the guard to move the chair beside him, Sebastian might have overlooked it as simply his desire to have Hawke near him during the service.

But that wasn’t what he had done.

He had made the request of the Seneschal of Kirkwall, at the start of the service, when every person of importance in Kirkwall was there to see it. 

He would be aware of the implication of such an action. Even if he hadn’t been, Bran would certainly have pointed out to him how such a move would appear.

He had done it deliberately. Everyone had wondered who would succeed him now that his only child was dead.

Viscount Marlowe Dumar had given them an answer. He’d moved Anabel Hawke’s chair to the spot reserved for the heir to the throne. 

Sebastian smiled at her as she finally reached his side, but truthfully his mind was still reeling at the implications of Dumar's action.

She smiled back at him looking thoroughly relieved. “I made it through it. I didn’t run out screaming.”

“No, you didn’t.” He agreed.

He’d watched Anabel carefully during the service. Not even Bran could have had reason to fault her behavior. She’d kept her composure, and had comforted the Viscount when he had lost his, sliding from her chair, and kneeling beside his throne, speaking softly to him. Whatever she’d said had calmed him, and though she’d returned to her own seat, he’d clung to her hand like a child for the rest of the service. Sitting there in the stark black armor, with her flaming hair and pale skin, Sebastian had been hard pressed to stop looking at her and he hadn’t been alone. Looking out at the crowd, her head held high, she had appeared as dignified and regal as a young queen.

“I’m rather proud of myself.” She continued when he didn’t add anything more. “I think Bran was testing me, putting me on display like that, but I couldn’t very well say no, not with everyone watching.” She looked around and realized everyone was still watching. Everyone from nobles to guardsman to sisters of the Chantry. It wasn’t that the looks were unfriendly. They were more appraising, and if she met someone’s eye directly, she actually received smiles and nods. _Maker, nobles were a strange bunch_. She turned back to Sebastian. “I think you were right. I think the Viscount just wanted someone who cared about Saemus near him.” She looked up to find that even he was looking at her strangely. “What?”

“I may have been wrong.” Sebastian admitted. She hadn’t understood what had just happened. He’d been right in his assumption.

She just seemed puzzled by his words.

“He put you to the right of him, Anabel.”

“And that’s different if he’d put me on his left?” She looked more confused than before.

“The chair to the right of the throne is where the heir is seated.” He explained.

She frowned at him. “But there is no heir.”

If he didn’t know better he would suspect she was being deliberately obtuse about this. “The Viscount of Kirkwall had his Seneschal move your chair to the spot where the heir to the throne sits, in front of all the nobility of Kirkwall and the Grand Cleric of the Free Marches.” 

And then she understood. “No.” Panic filled her face. 

“Anabel.” He said soothingly.

“Fuck no!” She shouted and almost every head in the Chantry turned to gape at her. 

 

 

Anabel and Sebastian were both quiet when they returned to the mansion after the funeral luncheon. Only Leandra seemed to feel the need to fill the silence, rehashing everything that had happened today.

Anabel was barely listening to her. Any composure she’d had had completely vanished when Sebastian had told her what the Viscount’s actions had meant. 

What on Thedas was the man thinking? The idea was ludicrous. After that one shouted outburst in the Chantry she’d managed to pull herself together again, at least outwardly. The funeral luncheon had been painful. She'd felt like her smile had been plastered on her face. No one seemed to notice how fake it was, except for Sebastian, whom she’d caught watching her with a worried frown more than once. In spite of Anabel’s repeated refusals to discuss it, Leandra kept bringing up what had happened, seemingly unaware of how just the thought of being thrust into the heart of Kirkwall politics upset her daughter.

“Obviously the Viscount thinks you capable.” Leandra pointed out as they walked into the foyer.

“Obviously the Viscount is unhinged by his grief.” Anabel replied.

“It’s a tragedy, of course, but Saemus was never really suited to be Viscount was he? Everyone knew what a disappointment he was to his father.” 

“Saemus’ father loved him.” Anabel said fiercely. She began unfastening her jacket which suddenly felt too tight and too stiff and too confining. She struggled to slip out of it and felt Sebastian behind her, sliding it off her shoulders. He placed it gently on one of the tables.

“Well of course he did.” Leandra said seeming to brush it aside. “But he was such an embarrassment to him. Always gallivanting all over the Wounded Coast by himself and consorting with the Qunari. Lady Reinhardt told me that there’s a rumor going about that Saemus had actually converted to the Qun. Thank the Maker that one was false. Can you imagine?”

“It wasn’t false. He had.” She should have followed her instincts and gone out to the Wounded Coast with a bottle of brandy. She could have been happily drunk right now.

Leandra gave a small shudder. “Imagine the humiliation if that had become known. How disappointed the Viscount must have been.”

“There are some parents would rather be disappointed and have their children alive.” Anabel muttered quietly under her breath, but not so quietly that Leandra didn’t hear it.

Leandra gave her a small glare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Anabel almost didn’t answer, almost didn’t say anything, almost let it go, but suddenly she was tired of it. 

Tired of keeping it inside, tired of just accepting it.

She turned to face her mother. “Well, you would know all about being disappointed by your children, wouldn’t you?” She asked accusingly.

Leandra just stared at her. “Really, Anabel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really, Mother?” Anabel said, mockingly. “No idea? Because I’m fairly certain almost anyone who knows both of us knows exactly what I’m talking about. Shall we ask Sebastian?”

Leandra glanced nervously at the Prince who stood there his face carefully neutral.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Though he wouldn’t have chosen today for this confrontation it was long overdue. Anabel deserved answers from her mother. She needed answers. He watched, ready to intervene if it was necessary. 

Leandra flushed a dull brick red. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply…” She started to say.

“I’m not ‘implying’ anything. I’m stating it straight out: if you had been given the choice, you would rather have me dead than Carver or Bethany. I want to know why.”

“I never said anything like that.” Leandra insisted, though her voice seemed shaky.

Anabel cut her off. “You did, actually. That day in the Chantry after I came back from the Deep Roads. You said that I should have died before I let anything happen to either of them.”

Leandra looked stricken at the reminder. “I was distraught. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Anabel gave a harsh laugh. “No, Mother. I actually didn’t. What I do know is you never loved me the way you did the twins.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Anabel just raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Leandra suddenly couldn’t meet her daughter’s eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so insecure.” She muttered.

Anabel threw her hands up in frustration. “Why am I so insecure?” She shouted. “Because almost every day of my life you told me that I wasn’t good enough, or pretty enough, that I wasn’t anything like the Amells, that I wasn’t ‘elegant’ and that I never would be.”

Leandra stared at her. _I didn’t mean it like that_ , she wanted to say, _I just wanted you to be more like me. To want to be like me._ It was a selfish, pathetic excuse and she couldn’t say it out loud. 

“I looked like Da and acted like Da and you hated that. Why? When did you start hating Da that much?” 

“That’s ridiculous. I loved your father.” Leandra insisted. 

“Did you? Because ever since we came to Kirkwall it seems like you’ve regretted everything about Da. All you were interested in was getting back that life you gave up. You didn’t talk about him for years. You’ve done everything possible to erase him, but you couldn’t, could you, because I was still here reminding you of him every day. You hated him and so you hated me” 

“No.” Leandra shook her head in denial. “I never hated either of you.“

Anabel ignored the denials. “I want to know why? Is it just because I look like him? Because I act like him? Is that why? You couldn’t be angry with him, so you’ve been angry with me instead? Is it that simple?”

She was relentless. “I can’t do this.” Leandra said abruptly and tried to walk past her.

Anabel moved in front of her. “I know I’m not an Amell. I know I’m not Bethany. But I’m here. Why aren’t I good enough?” Her voice with thick with unshed tears.

“It wasn’t that.” 

“Then why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you.” Leandra sounded stricken. “I sometimes feel as if I don’t even know you.”

“And whose fault is that? When did you ever show the slightest bit of interest in me? For as long as I can remember, you’ve been indifferent. You never loved me, even when Da was alive. And I don’t understand why. What did I do, Mother? What did I do wrong?” Tears were streaming down her face.

Leandra was shaking her head. She tried to push past her daughter, but Anabel caught her arm. 

“Tell me!” She demanded.

“I couldn’t love you.” Leandra finally shouted back.

Anabel flinched as if Leandra had struck her. She let go of Leandra's arm and stepped away from her. “Why?” Her voice was no longer angry. It was the voice of child pleading for an explanation. Pleading for a parent’s love.

For a moment Sebastian didn’t think that Leandra was going to answer. He thought that she would to try and leave again, and that this time Anabel would let her. But then she suddenly whirled around to face her daughter.

“Because your father told me you were a mage!” she shouted.

Anabel just stared at her for a moment and then she shook her head in disbelief. “No. That can’t be it. You loved Bethany more than any of us and she was a mage. It couldn’t be just that.”

Tears were running down Leandra’s face as well now. “Don’t you understand? I trusted your father completely. I believed everything he said, and even before you were born he told me over and over again that you were a mage, that he was certain of it. He wanted me to be prepared. He kept telling me that. _You need to be prepared_. He warned me again and again. Told me everything to expect. We’d have to hide you. He said that demons would be drawn to you because not only were you a mage, but you were a powerful mage. We’d never be able to stay in one place for long, because he didn’t know when your magic would show. We’d have to stay away from chantries and templars because if they ever found out what you were they would take you away from and we’d never know where. We’d never see you again. We’d never know what had happened to you. He'd say it over and over again: _You need to be prepared_.”

She looked at Anabel, standing there, so much like Malcolm. She'd kept all of this inside for so long, and now she didn't seem to be able to stop talking. “I did hate him then. He took you away from me. I’d been so happy. In spite of everything, leaving my family and Kirkwall and having no money, and no place to live, I’d been truly happy for the first time in my life. I was with the man I loved and I was carrying his child. I was going to do everything differently from how my mother had done it.... You would be able to do whatever you wanted. If you wanted chocolate for breakfast or to play in mud puddles wearing your finest dress or any such thing I was going to let you have it all. I didn’t want you to be anything like the Amells. I wanted you to look like Malcolm and be like him, laughing and charming and easygoing and with no respect for the rules at all.” She looked at her daughter, only realizing now that her wish had been granted.

As if Anabel had heard her thoughts she whispered. “Be careful what you wish for.” 

“Yes.” Leandra agreed with a tired laugh. “Malcolm took all those hopes away. How I could let myself love you if you were going to be taken away? I would never survive that. And then I was so ill. It was easy to start resenting you. And when you were born, you weren’t how I’d imagined. Yes, you looked like Malcolm but you were so fussy, so difficult. No one but Malcolm could calm you down. I held you and you would just scream. And he still said it, not as often but often enough; _You need to be prepared._ You took all of his attention, all of his time, and I resented you for that too, and part of me was glad that I did because it made you harder to love. It wouldn’t hurt as badly when the Templars took you away. When the twins were born I could concentrate on them. Of course as soon as Carver could walk he just wanted to be with you and Malcolm, but that was all right. I had Bethany. I could focus all my love on Bethany, because she was like me and the Amells, and not like Malcolm at all. I thought it would be safe to love her, because she was like me. She would never be taken away.”

“And then her magic showed.” Said Anabel softly.

“Yes. All Malcolm’s boasting about his ability to sense a mage and he never even suspected that Bethany was. He let me love her, and he never warned me. He was so fixed on you, he never even noticed.”

“But that wasn’t my fault.” 

“I know. I know, and Maker forgive me, it’s taken me this long to realize that. I looked at you and I could only see him and blame him for everything. For leaving us. For Bethany being a mage. For you not being a mage. He did the best he could and he loved all of us more than anything. But he’s gone. And Bethany is gone, and Carver is Maker knows where or if we’ll ever see him again, and you are a stranger to me. I don’t know who you are. You’re the only child I have left and I’m afraid that I’ve forfeited the right to know you. But I want to. I want us to have a chance to have some sort of honest relationship. As friends even if not as mother and daughter.” 

Anabel stared down at the floor for a moment, “This is why you’ve suddenly been so chatty lately.” She said, still not looking at her mother.

“Yes.” 

Anabel remained silent for so long that Sebastian thought she was going to refuse, that she would turn Leandra away. He prayed that she would find it in her heart to forgive her mother, who had been brave enough to bare everything that way, to admit the awful mistakes that she had made and ask for a second chance. Please, he prayed. Please let Anabel understand. Please let her forgive her mother. For both of their sakes.

When Anabel finally did look up her face was solemn. She moved so she stood directly in front of Leandra, and stared at her for a moment. Then she smiled, a small hesitant smile, with just a hint of her dimple showing, as she held out a hand in greeting.

“Hi. I’m Anabel Hawke. I eat chocolate for breakfast whenever possible. I have horrible table manners, and terrible taste in friends, but I try and help out people when they need it, and not be judgmental or whine about things, and my father was the most wonderful man in the world.

Leandra stared at her as if she were mad, before she smiled back, and took Anabel’s hand in hers. “I’m Leandra Amell Hawke. My table manners are perfect, my taste in friends less so, and I try to help out my children even when they don’t want me to. I’m terribly judgmental, and lately I’ve spent far too much time concerned with things that really aren’t very important. My husband was the most wonderful man in the world. Perhaps he knew your father.”

Anabel’s eyes filled with tears. “I think he must have.” She suddenly flung herself into her mother’s arms and Sebastian quickly retreated into the library to give the two women some privacy. 

After about twenty minutes Anabel found him there. He looked up from the book he’d been reading and smiled at the sight of her. She looked a hundred times lighter than she had when they’d returned from the Chantry. 

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I was worried we’d frightened you off with all our drama.”

“You’ll need to work harder than that to drive me away.” He put down the book, and crossed to her side. “You look much better.”

“I feel much better. I feel….” She tried to find a way to put it into words. “I have a chance that I never expected to have. I don’t know if Leandra and I will ever have that perfect mother daughter relationship everyone always goes on about, but we’ve got a chance to have some sort of relationship now. I didn’t have that this morning. I didn’t think I’d ever have that, honestly. I wasn’t sure I even wanted it.” She took a deep breath. “But I do. I genuinely do.” She smiled again, a smile so full of hope that it took his breath away.

“I’m happy for both of you. Truly.” 

“We’ve delayed your leaving on your trip. I'm sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” He said with an easy smile. 

She walked him to the door and looked up at him. ”I’m going to miss you.” She confessed. “Quite irrationally so. You’re only going to be gone a week.”

Sebastian knew what she meant. They’d been separated before but for some reason this felt different. “I feel the same. I think it’s all that’s happened lately." How much more trouble would she get into while he was gone, he wondered. "Promise me you’ll be careful.”

She laughed. “I promise I’ll try. I’ve had quite enough near misses lately." She looked at him as if she were trying to memorize his face. "You’ll come see me as soon as you get back?” She asked.

“Yes.” 

“You promise?” She had a small frown on her face. 

He gave her that breath stealing smile. “I promise. As soon as I get back.”

“And don’t forget about me.” She instructed.

“In a week?” He said with an arch of his brow.

“I know how fickle you princes can be. Just think about me once or twice while you’re gone.” 

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “There’s rarely a moment when you aren’t in my thoughts, Anabel Hawke.” He informed her.

She returned the smile almost shyly, and then the worried frown was back. “And you’ll be careful too? You’ll come back as soon as you’ve seen this Maclaren person?” 

His smile broadened. “You’re all in a pother over me.” He said, inexplicably pleased by the idea. His family had never given two thoughts to his well being when he’d gone off somewhere, beyond being worried that he’d embarrass them in some way.

“A pother?”

“You’re worried about me. You truly will miss me won’t you?”

She blushed, just a hint of pink on that flawless white skin. “Yes, well I’ve gotten used to having you around. I’d hate to have to break in someone new.” She said, giving him just a glimpse of her dimple.

“You’re an impertinent miss.” He said, but truthfully he wouldn't have her any other way.

“That can’t come as a surprise to you.” She teased, laughing up at him.

And he couldn’t help it; seemingly of its own volition his hand reached out and gently raised her chin and he slowly bent forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t wild and passionate and out of control the way their other kisses had been. It didn’t demand. It was almost as if he were reminding himself of how she felt and tasted, as if he were renewing his claim to her. He leaned closer into it, and the action put his face near enough to hers that he could feel the warmth of her skin against his, and smell the sweet light fragrance of her.

His hand stayed beneath her chin as he slowly pulled back to find her staring at him, her eyes huge, apparently as confused by his actions as he was. He stared into her eyes her for moment before he let his hand drop. “I’ll return as soon as I can.” He promised.

_I love you._

She almost said it out loud. Instead she forced herself to give him a sassy smile. “You’d better, or I’ll have ride out to Tantervale and fetch you back home.”

He was still smiling as the door closed behind him as he realized she was right. Somewhere along the line, even more than the Chantry, wherever Anabel Hawke was had become his home.

He hadn’t even made it past the stairs to the Keep, before he heard someone calling his name. He turned and found to his surprise it was Leandra. He stopped and waited as she caught up to him.

“I just wanted to say thank you for putting up with all of that.” Like her daughter she seemed lighter. 

“I’m glad you’ve cleared things with Anabel. I think both of you will find rewards in this friendship.”

“Yes. It will still take work of course. We're very different. But I’ve wanted it for so long, I just didn't know how to let her know that. I keep thinking how pleased her father would be.” She smiled at him and suddenly he saw something of Anabel in her.

“He must have been a remarkable man.”

She nodded. “Yes. That’s a good word for him. He was remarkable.” She looked far away for a moment and he knew she was remembering her husband. “Another trait he and Anabel share.” She said before turning back to him. “Thank you for looking out for her all these months. For caring for her, and for being a calm place for her to rest. She’s such a whirlwind. She always has been. She needs a place where she can just be still and you’ve been that for her. She’s come to depend on you, though she might not ever admit it. You’re good for her. And I suspect she’s good for you as well." 

“It's been my honor to be at her side. She's an extraordinary woman." 

Leandra was watching him carefully. "You care for her."

Sebastian couldn't deny it. "She’s the most important person in the world to me. I’d never let anything happen to her. I’d give my life for her.” He admitted.

Leandra smiled, not at all surprised. “That’s all a mother can ask for in her daughter’s suitor.” She said with a smile. “Good luck on your journey.” She said, and turned and walked away before he had quite registered that she’d called him Anabel’s suitor, or decide if it was his journey to Tantervale or a very different journey that she had been talking about.

 

Leandra closed the door the mansion behind her with a satisfied smile on her face, and walked back into the main room. 

Anabel was looking at her suspiciously. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing that you need to know.” Said Leandra, before her face softened. “He’s a good man, Anabel.”

Anabel gave her a mischievous grin. “Of course he is. He’s royalty.”

Leandra tried to frown at her and ended up laughing instead. “All right. I suppose I deserve that. But I mean it. He’s a good man. And he cares for you. I’d like him even if he weren’t a prince.”

It didn’t seem the time to explain to Leandra that their relationship couldn’t be like that. Anabel didn’t want to ruin this new accord between them. “High praise indeed. I’m going to get ready to meet the others at the Hanged Man.”

“It’s Tuesday. Wicked Grace night.”

Anabel looked surprised. “You keep track of that?”

“I keep track of most of what you’re up to.” Leandra said. 

Anabel hesitated. “I could stay in if you’d prefer.”

Leandra smiled at the offer. “No. Go enjoy yourself at that wretched tavern."

Anabel smiled “You could come too.”

Leandra gave a small shudder. “No, thank you.”

Anabel just laughed and moved towards the stairs.

“Anabel.” 

She turned to look at her mother.

“I was wondering if you might like to go shopping tomorrow? I haven’t been very happy lately with what I’ve been finding at the places I usually go to. Perhaps you could show me where you get some of your things?”

“We could do that.”

“After I get back from lunch with Gamlen?”

“Sure. I’d like that.” She couldn’t keep from smiling as she walked to the stairs. She felt more hopeful than she had since Saemus had been killed. She started up the stairs, wrinkling her nose as she passed the vase on the side table. She made a mental note to stop and see Sam at the flower market while she and Leandra were out tomorrow to pick up some fresh flowers.

She hated the way lilies smelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. My computer is still being repaired and access to a laptop at a time when I can actually write has been hard to come by. 
> 
> inspiration pictures and such are on my tumblr 
> 
>  
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	29. The Very Long Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian returns from Tantervale to the news of Leandra's murder. Comforting Hawke takes an interesting turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long. Really long. And no matter what I did, it didn't get shorter. Tried editing it down this morning and added 500 words. I thought I'd better post it before it got any longer.
> 
> It is officially titled "The Very Long Chapter" now.
> 
> There are some not graphic but disturbing descriptions of violence in this one.

Sebastian returned from Tantervale two days earlier than he’d planned. He was bone weary when he pulled his horse to a stop by the Chantry stables and slid to the ground. He passed the reins to the stable boy with an admonition to take good care of the animal, and to feed him well. He’d pushed himself, ridden hard, wanting to get back as soon as possible. He glanced at the darkening sky as he removed his bags from the horse’s back, wondering if it were too late to see Anabel tonight and then decided he didn’t care. 

She’d been almost constantly in his thoughts since he’d left. He’d found himself wanting to ask her opinion, to talk with her, to share everything that he had spoken of with Lord Maclaren, and he didn’t want to wait until morning. He’d go straight to the bath house, get rid of the stink of the road and the horse, then quickly to the Chantry to let Elthina know he’d returned, and then to Anabel’s. 

He walked into the Chantry less than twenty minutes later. Workers were busy removing the black draping that signified a funeral had taken place earlier in the day. Someone of import had passed away while he’d been gone judging by the sheer amount of black crepe that was being taken down. He started towards the stairs to Elthina’s office, wondering who it might have been.

“Sebastian.” He turned to see Elthina standing in the middle of the nave, and he quickly crossed to her side, a smile on his face. It slowly faded when he saw her expression.

“Praise the Maker.” She seemed both stunned and relieved to see him. “We didn’t expect you until next week. We sent a messenger, of course. Did he find you so quickly?”

“No. No messenger came while I was there.” He tried to ignore his growing sense of dread. “My business concluded more quickly than I thought. What’s happened?” He offered a silent prayer to Andraste for Anabel’s safety, knowing full well that with the life she led… “Is Anabel all right?”

Elthina’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “Hawke is uninjured.” She assured him. “But Leandra Amell was killed three days ago.”

Leandra dead? No, he thought. Not now, not when she and Anabel had finally begun to resolve their issues. He looked at the dismantled funeral trappings, lying on the floor of the Chantry. “This was her funeral?” And then what Elthina had said sank in. “Killed? She was murdered?” That made no sense. “Who could possibly want to harm her?” 

“The Kirkwall Killer. He used Leandra most foully.” Elthina said with a shudder. “Hawke killed him, but she was too late to save her mother.”

 _I was too late_. He could almost hear Anabel say the words. He was only dimly aware that Elthina was still speaking.

“I remembered when I dedicated Leandra in the Chantry. She was one of the most beautiful babies I had ever seen. Her parents were so proud.” Her eyes grew distant as she remembered that far happier day. She turned back to Sebastian placing her hand on his arm. “Andraste heard our prayers for your swift return. You know what it is to lose your family to violence. Hawke needs you, Sebastian. Go to her.” 

He pressed her hand gratefully, and left, beginning to run before he was even halfway down the nave.

The Amell mansion was draped in black crepe giving it an eerie appearance. The door opened just as he reached it, and Aveline walked out. She gave a small start when she saw him, but her expression quickly changed from startled to relieved.

“Sebastian. The Grand Cleric said you weren’t due back until next week.”

“My business concluded sooner than I expected.” He explained. “Aveline, what in the Maker’s name happened?”

“A blood mage named Quentin happened.” She said grimly. “He took Leandra right off the street. It took us two days to find her and by then it was too late.”

“He’d killed her already?” 

She looked at him and there was something in her eyes that he’d never seen in the normally composed guard captain. Whatever had happened had rattled her badly. “He was a necromancer,” she finally said. “Trying to resurrect his dead wife. All these years he’d been collecting parts from those women in an attempt to piece her together. Hands from one. Eyes from another. Skin…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Sebastian. “Well, you get the idea. We found his hideout beneath the foundry where Hawke found those body parts all those years ago. There was a portrait of a woman that we can only assume was his wife.” Aveline gave him a pointed stare. “She looked like Leandra.”

She couldn’t mean…. “Dear Maker, no.” He felt physically ill.

“He took Leandra’s head.” Aveline confirmed, staring out at the bustle of Hightown. “I’ve seen some horrors in my day, but never anything as bad as that...thing staggering around.”

Sebastian stared at her. “You don’t mean he succeeded?”

“I mean exactly that.” Aveline said grimly. “The look on Hawke’s face when she saw what had been done ... I’ll remember that look until the day I die.” 

“Was Leandra aware of what had been done?”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes, trying to absorb that particular atrocity.

Aveline continued speaking. “After Hawke had killed Quentin, Leandra stayed alive for a few minutes. The magic that kept her alive only worked while Quentin lived. I don’t begin to understand it. I’m certain Anders could offer an explanation. Leandra told Hawke she was so proud of her, and that she loved her.” Her voice grew thick and she paused to brusquely clear her throat before continuing. “I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but you’d think she could have shared that with Hawke before this.”

But she had, thought Sebastian. They had reconciled. Finally, they were going to work out their differences. _Dear Maker, why take her now? Why do this to Anabel?_ “How is she?” He asked urgently.

Aveline glanced at the mansion. “She’s not good. She broke down briefly when Leandra died. But then she just closed everything off. Oh, she’s functioning. She arranged the funeral. Said that she needed to make sure that Leandra had a funeral worthy of an Amell, whatever that meant. Her behavior’s been faultless, but it’s as if she’s not really there. I don’t think she’s slept since it happened. I know she hasn’t eaten. And now that the show is over, she’s shut herself in her room. We’ve all tried talking to her, and all of us get the same response: a polite ‘thank you’ and then she turns her head and doesn’t say another word. It’s as if she’s retreated some place that none of us can get to.”

Like after the Deep Roads. “I need to go to her.” He said.

“And I should get back to the Keep.” Aveline said briskly. “The others are all inside, bickering and sniping and generally behaving like children.” She said, and then gave a sigh. “That’s not fair. We’re all frustrated and feeling helpless. She thinks if she keeps it inside none of us will notice how much she’s hurting. Go to her. Maybe you can get through to her.”

Sebastian pushed open the door, and heard Anders and Fenris arguing. 

“She hasn’t slept in days. There’s no reason why a gentle sleep spell would do her any harm.” Anders was standing with his back to the entrance.

Isabela sat on the floor by the hearth, with Merrill beside her forlornly resting her head in the pirate’s lap, as Isabela stroked her hair. Fenris was pacing back and forth by the stairs. Varric sat at the desk, but stiffly somehow, as if he too were ill at ease.

They were all strangely awkward, as if without Anabel they had no direction, no idea of exactly what to do. As if it were she who held the group together.

Fenris’ tattoos flared as glared at Anders. “You are not casting spells on Hawke. And neither are you, witch.” He said cutting off a forlorn Merrill before she could speak. “Hasn’t magic done enough to her?”

“Hey now, Broody.” Admonished Varric. “There’s no need to pick on Daisy. She’s just trying to help. It’s all any of us are trying to do.”

“If not for mages there would be no need to help Hawke.” Fenris retorted.

Anders threw his hands up in the air. “And here we go again. Magic is evil. All mages are blood mages.”

“Not all need to be evil blood mages. Just one. Quentin showed us that well enough.”

“So let’s condemn all mages for the actions of one madman. I’m sure Meredith would love to trot out an Order of Annulment. She’s probably got a stack of them ready in her desk.”

“With good reason.” Fenris muttered under his breath.

Anders took a step towards him, faint glowing cracks appearing in his skin. Fenris’ lyrium tattoos flared to life and the others scrambled to their feet, Merrill trying to talk Anders down, Isabela snapping at Fenris, and Varric moving to stand between the two.

“Enough! “ Sebastian shouted from the doorway. All heads turned to face him. He saw Orana, who had been standing quietly in the corner, go running swiftly up the stairs. “This is not the time for this.” He looked at each of them and realized they were all down here. “You’ve left her on her own?” He asked accusingly.

“She told us she wanted to be by herself.” Said Varric. 

“And you let her be?” Left on her own again, just as she’d been when she returned from the Deep Roads.

“At least we were here for her, not gallivanting around the Free Marches.” Anders snapped.

“She didn’t want to talk to us, Sebastian. All of us tried.” Chimed in Merrill.

He ignored them and started towards the stairs. His foot had only touched the bottom step when he heard her.

“Sebastian?” It was little more than a whisper, as if she wasn’t quite certain she was really seeing him.

He looked up at her standing at the top of the stairs, and his heart sank. He could well believe that she hadn’t eaten or slept in days. She was pale as parchment, with dark circles standing out like bruises under her eyes. Her hair was unbound and she was wearing a mourning dress, beribboned and ruffled and he immediately recognized it as the one she’d described to him at Saemus’ funeral. He thought of what Aveline had said, about how Anabel had insisted on a proper Hightown funeral for her mother. The dress was as hideous as she had said and it seemed ill fitting, too large and loose on her suddenly fragile looking frame, but he knew she had worn it for her mother, because that was what Leandra had said was proper attire for a young lady to wear to a funeral.

But it was the look in her eyes that broke his heart. That look that said she’d failed to save someone she cared about yet again. “Oh, Anabel.” He said softly and her face crumpled at the sound of that soft Starkhaven burr. Sobs seemed to tear out of her. He started up the stairs taking them two at a time, and she flung herself into his arms when he was still a few steps below her, dropping a pair of scissors she’d been holding. They fell with a clang on to the tiled floor as he caught her and held her tightly, one arm around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head.

“I’m here, love. I’m here.” He repeated.

She wept as if her heart would break. As if it had broken. There was nothing dainty about it; it was all gasps and harsh sobs. He ignored the others, now staring up at them from bottom of the stairs, and in one swift movement lifted her in his arms and carried her back into her bedroom kicking the door shut behind him.

He sank into the armchair by the fire still holding her, letting her weep, just holding her close and stroking her hair. Eventually the sobs subsided and then the words starting pouring out of her.

“It’s my fault.”

“No.” He said.

“He’d been living under the foundry where I found those body parts. I should have looked harder.”

“How many times did the Guard search there? No one found it. You’re not to blame.”

“I should have been faster, or better. I should have realized what those hideous white lilies meant. I should have seen that something was after her.”

His arms tightened around her and he gently rubbed her back. “No one could have seen this happening Ana.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and stared into the fire. “I was holding her when she died.” She said softly. “I was sitting on the ground the middle of that place, surrounded by bodies and body parts, and she was looking at me with someone else’s eyes, finally telling me that she loved me. And even with those wrong eyes, I could see her again, the way she used to be when Da was still alive. She said I shouldn’t fret. That she was going to get to see Da and Bethany -- and she sounded so happy about it. I wanted to scream at her and ask her how she could be happy when she was leaving me behind but I couldn’t, because it was all my fault.”

“No.” He repeated.

She didn’t seem to hear him. “I promised Carver I’d look after her. I promised Da. I failed. I failed all of them. They’re all gone and I’m all alone.” She whispered.

He shifted her in his lap so she was looking at him. “That’s the very last thing you are, Anabel Hawke. You have a house full of friends downstairs, practically tripping over themselves, arguing how best to help you. You have Carver, though he may not be here with you. You have Elthina. You have me. You’re not alone. Never think that you’re alone.” 

Tears began to well up in her eyes again “After the other day I thought that maybe she and I would have a chance. That’s gone now.”

“I know. But, isn’t it better that to know that you had that chance?”

She sighed and turned back to the fire. “Rationally I should agree with you. But right now it just makes it hurt more.”

His eyes were filled with sympathy. “I know it hurts, Ana, and it will hurt. But it gets better. And you’re not alone.” 

She laid her head back on his shoulder and they sat there quietly, watching the fire. Slowly he felt her begin to relax, felt some of that tension leave her. He brushed her hair back, marveling once again at the sheer quantity of it. He understood why she usually wore it tied back or pinned up. Loose like this it was everywhere.

He went still suddenly, frowning as he remembered something from earlier. “Ana, when you came out of your room why were you holding scissors?”

She immediately tensed up again. “It’s not important.” She said after a moment. She moved as if to leave the chair, but he held her firmly in place. She gave him a wary look.

“Tell me anyway.” He said gently.

She stared at him before turning back to the fire. “What do you know about the Chasind?” She asked finally.

“The Wilder folk?” He asked, wondering what this could possibly have to do with the scissors. “Not very much. They live far to the south in the swamps of the Kokari Wilds. They don’t follow the teachings of the Maker.” 

“There were a lot of them around Lothering. We used to trade with them. Our farm was right on the edge of the Wilds, remember. They knew Da was a mage, but it didn’t bother them. They called him a shaman and if they were ill or injured they would turn up on our doorstep and he’d heal them.” She hesitated before she continued. “They have a tradition. When someone close to them dies, they cut off their hair.” 

His heart actually skipped a beat. His arm tightened around her, and he wound one of the long locks he’d been stroking around his hand, as if to reassure himself it was still there. When he trusted himself to speak, he asked carefully. “You were going to cut off your hair?”

She stared at the fire, still not looking at him. “I’m not certain. I was looking in the mirror, and thinking of how I used to hate my hair because it wasn’t dark and straight and shiny like Mother’s and Bethany’s. I remember taking the pins out and staring at my reflection, and then the scissors were just in my hand.”

“What stopped you?” He asked softly.

“I remembered an argument that Da and Leandra had when I was small. He wanted to cut my hair short. She wouldn’t let him. She called it my one beauty.” 

He saw a single tear track down her cheek. “I was sitting there, clutching those scissors in my hand thinking how unhappy Mother would be if I cut my hair off, but I couldn’t seem to put the scissors down. And then Orana came running in and said you were here.” She turned then, and looked up at him. “I wanted you here so much. I was trying so hard to hold on until you came home.”

“I’m here now.” Thank Andraste he’d come back early.

They sat quietly again. He didn’t know how long they’d been up here. An hour perhaps? Long enough for him to be getting stiff. He shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Anabel glanced at him when he moved, and saw the discomfort on his face. “Oh Maker, I must be crushing you.” She scrambled to her feet and was immediately so dizzy that she almost lost her balance. She clutched at Sebastian’s shoulder in an effort to stop the room from spinning. 

His hands steadied her. “I’ve got you.” He looked at her drawn and pale face. “Ana, how long has it been since you’ve eaten or slept?” Aveline had said days, but surely that couldn’t be right.

Her eyes clouded as she tried to remember. “I don’t know. I…I don’t think since before…” She swallowed and the horror of the memory flickered briefly in those blue green eyes.

He had a sudden urge to thrash the others for not taking better care of her. “Do you think you could try and eat something now?” He asked.

She didn’t want to, but it was impossible to say no to him when he looked at her like that. She nodded.

“Good.” He settled her gently back in the chair, and went to the door. As he suspected, Orana was waiting outside. “Can you bring some food, Orana? Broth and perhaps some bread and cheese. Light wine, or water.”

She flashed him a grateful smile. “Of course Messere. Perhaps…” She said hesitantly. “Perhaps I should ready a bath for when she is finished eating?” 

“Yes,” he said, thankful that at least Anabel had at least someone looking out for her. In no time at all she returned with a tray and went into what he assumed was the bathing chamber. He heard water running. 

Anabel picked mindlessly at the food until Sebastian sat beside her and handed her small pieces of bread with soft cheese, and peeled an apple for her, handing her thin slivers. When he saw she would eat no more, he moved the tray aside. “Now, Orana will help you bathe and afterward you can sleep.”

He saw the panic in her eyes. “Are you going to leave?” 

He remembered all too well how the thoughts of his murdered family had haunted his nights, and he thought again of her sitting in front of her mirror, scissors in hand. “Would you mind if I stayed?” He asked carefully. “I’d feel better if you weren’t alone right now.”

“I don’t want to be alone. “ Her voice trailed off and she looked down at the floor. When she spoke her voice was so low he had to strain to hear it. “It’s bad at night. When I close my eyes I can see her. I can see what he did to her.” 

He lifted her chin so she was looking at him again, and leaning forward pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I won’t go anywhere Ana. I’ll stay by your side, as long as you need me.” He looked up to find Orana standing by the door to the bath. “Go with Orana.” He said with a gentle smile. “She’ll take care of you.” 

He watched her leave the room, and then made his way downstairs to let the others know what was going on. He paused at the top of the stairs to pick up the scissors.

They seemed to have scarcely moved from where they’d been when he’d arrived, though Varric was now scribbling something down on a piece of paper. They all watched as he came down the stairs.

“She’s eaten something. She’s bathing now and then, Maker willing, she’ll be able to sleep.” He put the scissors down on the side table by the library.

“You’ve got a touch Choir Boy, I’ll give you that.” Said Varric, after a moment.

Anders was staring at the scissors. He looked up at Sebastian. “Why did she have scissors?” 

For a moment Sebastian considered not telling them, but truth be told he’d been disturbed by the incident. “She was going to cut off her hair.” 

There was a moment of horrified silence before Isabela cried out “Why the Void would she do that?”

To his surprise it was Merrill who answered. “She’s mourning, _lethallan_. She wanted the world to see she was hurting.”

Sebastian looked at Anders, who looked as dismayed as he himself had been. “You’ve been trained in such things, Anders. Do you think…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Do I think she’ll try and harm herself?” The mage finished.

“Yes.”

Anders stared at the scissors, and after a moment he shook his head. “No. I think she’s exhausted almost beyond human endurance. Even before this happened she’d been through more in the last few weeks than most people go through in a lifetime. I think she’s heartbroken about Leandra, though for the life of me I can’t understand why. They could scarcely be in the same room together without arguing.”

“They had a reconciliation of sorts just before I left.” 

“Shit.” Said Varric, letting the quill fall to the desk.

“I don’t think she should be alone.” Said Sebastian. “For a little while, at least. I’ll stay tonight. Can one of you come in the morning?”

Varric stood up and shouldered Bianca. “We’ll be here. Come on. Looks like Choir Boy’s got it under control.” Isabela and Merrill followed him as he moved towards the door, but Anders stayed where he was, trying not to glare at the Prince.

It had finally happened. Finally Hawke had found someone she let herself be vulnerable in front of. He tried to think of a reason not to leave, not to leave Hawke alone with this man, and couldn’t come up with a single one. He would have to leave them here together, see them grow closer, watch as they built a life together. Even though the prat insisted he wanted to stay a priest, Anders knew from personal experience just how impossible it was to resist Hawke.

“Come on Blondie.” Called Varric. “Nothing more for us to do here tonight. The Prince has swooped in to the rescue. Huh. And I’d heard swooping was bad.”

“We’ll be back first thing in the morning.” Anders said, managing to make it sound like a warning.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the Maker’s sake.” She said, taking his arm and pulling him towards the door. “Come on.” 

As Fenris was about to follow, Sebastian called his name. “Can you tell me what happened? Everything that happened?” He needed to know the worst of it if he was to help Anabel.

Fenris looked at him, and nodded. They moved into the library and sat down and Fenris began to speak. Of how Gamlen had come looking for Leandra when she hadn’t appeared for lunch. How Hawke had gone everywhere looking for her: to Aveline in the Keep, and even to the Templars. How she’d explored the Undercity and Darktown, and all of Lowtown and how Gamlen had finally found an urchin who claimed to have seen Leandra with an injured man, and how he’d pointed out a trail of bloodstains that they could barely see in the dark.

Fenris paused. “Even with all that was happening do you know what she did?”” He asked Sebastian.

“What?”

“She noticed the boy needed new shoes. Gave him silver and told him to buy some.”

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “That sounds very much like something she would do.”

“I do not understand why the Maker allows such things to happen to her.” Fenris burst out.

“We don’t always see the Maker’s bigger plan, Fenris…” He started to say but his voice trailed off. “I don’t either.” He admitted.

Fenris looked startled at the admission.

“So you followed the trail.” Sebastian prompted.

“Yes.” Said Fenris. He told of how it had led them to the Foundry, to a hidden entrance that this time the killer had failed to conceal. Of descending into the killer’s lair and the overpowering stench of rotting bodies there. Of the shades and undead and demons they encountered at every turn. Of the oddly elegant space where Quentin had lived, with its elaborate bed and bookcases and that portrait that had looked so much like Leandra. Of the books of darkest magic that were scattered everywhere.

And then they found the mage. 

“He played with her.” Snarled Fenris. “Told her how her mother had sworn her daughter would rescue her. Hawke pleaded with him. Told him he could go, that all she wanted was her mother.”

Sebastian closed his eyes, hearing Anabel’s voice in his mind.

“And then that thing rose from the chair behind the mage.” Fenris paused for a moment. “The look on Hawke’s face when she saw what had been done to Leandra will haunt me until the day I die. To know that they had reconciled…” He looked directly at the Prince. “I have spoken to you of what I have seen in Tevinter. This Quentin was the equal of the worst of the magisters there.”

“What happened then?” Sebastian asked.

“What always happens with such mages. Demons and shades and evil spirits. Blood magic. Whatever else he might have been this Quentin was powerful. The fight would have been brutal had it not been for Hawke.”

“What did she do?” 

“She let out a smite the likes of which I’ve never seen before. The Blood Mage went flying. She was on him and had killed him before he had even been able to lift his head from the ground where he’d landed.”

“A smite – as she did with Hadriana?” Anabel hadn’t been certain of how she’d done that, and hadn’t thought she’d be able to do it again.

“More powerful. You could almost feel it, like an invisible wave rolling out from her. It simply knocked aside the shades he’d summoned. And it was more focused this time. It hit only Quentin. The abomination was unaffected. I do not understand what this talent is that she has, but in a city such as Kirkwall it can only be an advantage.”

“Did she control it, do you think? Or was it just a result of her emotions?”

Fenris thought about it for a moment. “I cannot say for certain. I think she made an effort to summon it.”

“And after the maleficar was dead?”

“Anders had been tending Leandra. He called Hawke over, telling her to be quick. Whatever was keeping her mother alive was vanishing with the mage’s death. When her mother passed…” His voice trailed off. “I don’t remember ever hearing someone make such sounds. None of us knew what to do. We stood there like helpless fools.” He stared into the fire, his face bleak. “When it stopped she insisted on going through the remains of the women Quentin had murdered. So that her mother would be whole. We tried to spare her that, but she said no, that her mother wouldn’t want strangers seeing her like that.” 

Sebastian felt his throat tighten as he pictured it. “I should have been here.” He muttered, knowing the guilt was irrational, that he had had no way of knowing such a horror would have occurred, and that even if he had been here it probably wouldn’t have prevented it.

“You are here now.” Said Fenris.

“I should check on her.” Sebastian said, getting to his feet. “Thank you for telling me, Fenris.”

“I’m glad you’ve returned. I didn’t know how to help her. What to say….” He turned and looked at the Prince. “She’s been teaching me to read, did she tell you?”

Sebastian stared at him. It had never occurred to him that Fenris wouldn’t know how to…”No. She didn’t.”

“I think she knew I wouldn’t want the others to know. But I thought perhaps she would have told you.” He looked down at the floor. “I have never known anyone like her. She taught me that it was possible to love and be loved unconditionally. Openly, without demands or games, and without expecting anything in return. I didn’t think such a thing existed before I met her.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that curved. “It’s the way she loves everyone.”

“Yes.” Fenris agreed.

They both got to their feet, and left the library. Sebastian walked towards the stairs.

“Sebastian.” Said Fenris.

He turned back to the elf.

Fenris seemed to hesitate before he finally spoke. “You are one of the few honorable men I have met in this city and I know you will have considered this. That there is probably no need to…” his voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”

“It’s all right Fenris. You can speak freely. I value your opinion.”

“Hawke is more vulnerable than any of us like to think. Especially now. Especially where you are concerned. Just…be careful.” 

Sebastian opened his mouth to deny there was anything to be worried about and found he couldn’t. “I would never intentionally hurt her, Fenris.” He ended up saying. 

Fenris observed him carefully for a moment and, apparently satisfied with what he saw there, nodded his head, and left.

Sebastian walked slowly up the stairs towards Anabel’s room thinking about all he had been told, and wondering about the burden that the Maker seemed to be putting on Anabel. He was determined to help her bear it.

He knocked gently on her bedroom door, and when there was no response, knocked harder. He heard a muffled response and opened the door slightly. Orana was calling for Bodahn from the bathing chamber. He crossed the room to the bathing chamber. The door was slightly ajar. “Was there something you needed, Orana?” 

Her voice was flustered when she answered. ”Oh, Messere. I’m sorry. She’s fallen asleep, and I have no gown for her and I don’t want to leave her in case she slips under the water. It’s my fault, I didn’t think she’d fall asleep so quickly but she hasn’t slept in days. I shouldn’t have suggested a bath. I’m sorry…“ 

He interrupted the stammered apologies. “It’s all right, Orana. Where are the gowns?"

“In the wardrobe by the bed, in the drawer.”

Sebastian opened the wardrobe and was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of sandalwood, and spring flowers. Everything smelled of Anabel and it was all he could do not to bury his face in the garments hanging there.

“Messere, can you find them?” Orana called out hesitantly. “Perhaps you could hold her upright while I get one?”

“No!” He practically shouted, his mind suddenly filled with nothing but images of holding Anabel’s naked, wet body while she lay in the bath. He scrambled to open the drawer, and then frowned and opened another. _Andraste have mercy_ …these must be small clothes. Everything seemed to be gossamer thin silks, in a rainbow of colors, gowns with the smallest of straps, cut low, or with slits cut high, decorated with delicate lace or intricate embroidery. He slammed the drawer shut and opened the first again. Nothing else came close to resembling a sleeping gown. Part of him knew it was foolish to be so surprised. He’d had tantalizing glimpses of her underclothes – why wouldn’t her sleeping garments be just as enticing? He looked down and found his hand resting on a scarlet gown and he could see her in it, see the contrast of the red against the white of her skin. See the way it would cling to her. Feel how smoothly it would glide off her shoulders when he slid his hand beneath the strap. He pulled his hand back as if it burned his skin.

“Messere?” called Orana.

“Yes.” He answered, his voice cracking like a teenage boy’s. “Yes, I have one. He shoved the scarlet silk back and rifled through the garments. A glimpse of pale pink caught his eye. Pink. Sweet, innocent. Pure. Not carnal at all. He grabbed it, and crossed quickly to the door, sticking his arm through, holding out the garment. “Here you go, Orana. I’ll wait just outside.”

A flustered voice answered him. “I’m so sorry Messere, but I must ask for your aid. She’s completely asleep. I can’t lift her out of the bath by myself.”

He closed his eyes, wondering what he had done that the Maker would dangle such temptation before him.

“Messere?”

He rested his head against the door praying for strength. _You are a brother of the Chantry_ , he told himself firmly. _Sworn to comfort and aid those who need help. She has suffered unspeakable horrors in the last few days. If you cannot control yourself now you aren’t worthy to be a brother, or a lover, and certainly not a suitor._ He took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

It felt as if he had stepped into the bathhouse of a brothel in Antiva or Rivain. It wasn’t that the room was vulgar or unseemly; it was just unabashedly hedonistic. Brightly colored painted tiles decorated the wall and the floor. Colored glass lights hung from the ceiling casting soft shadows, thick plush towels were piled neatly, and the room was dominated by an opulent marble bath set in an alcove at the far side of the room, shielded from view by soft sheer curtains. She must have converted an entire bedroom to have this room. The bath itself was so large that he suspected someone Anabel’s size could probably have gone swimming in it. He had a moment of envy. The tin bathtubs in the Chantry weren’t designed for a man of his height. He couldn’t straighten his knees, even if he sat upright. Anabel’s bath could have easily held them both.

He pushed aside the thought as he pushed aside the curtain to the alcove. Orana was kneeling by the side of the tub, one arm across Hawke’s shoulder, holding her upright. Hawke’s head rested on the girl’s shoulder. He had just a glimpse of curve of a pale perfect breast peeking temptingly out of the soapy water before he quickly looked away.

_Sweet Andraste._

Orana seemed as embarrassed as he. “I’m sorry, Messere...” 

He felt himself flushing. Short of simply fleeing there was nothing to be done. He looked down again, at her face this time. There were traces of her earlier tears, but it was peaceful now. She looked like a little girl, utterly innocent, utterly defenseless. The urge to keep her safe surged to the forefront. 

_Right_. He unfastened his doublet and shrugged out of it, placing it by the sink, and quickly rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Here.” He said kneeling by the tub. “Get a towel ready. I’ll lift her up.” He reached into the still warm water, trying to keep his eyes firmly fixed at a spot on the wall behind her. Putting one arm around her back, and sliding the other under her knees, trying desperately not to think of how velvety soft her wet skin felt, he lifted her out of the tub, cradling her securely against his chest.

 _Dear Maker_. No one had ever felt as perfect in his arms.

Orana rushed over to tuck a large towel around her as he gently eased her feet to the floor. Anabel slumped against him, her face resting on his chest and his arms tightened around her, holding her upright. He could feel the press of her breasts against his shirt as the water soaked through the thin cotton. Orana began to rub her dry and Anabel tried to pull away from her ministrations, giving a little grumble of displeasure and pressing herself even more closely against him. Sebastian kept his eyes focused on a spot just over her head, willing himself not to react.

As if sensing his discomfort, Orana dropped the towel, and quickly picked up the gown, gently easing it over Anabel’s head, sliding her arms carefully through the straps. It slithered softly down her body. 

Sebastian looked down in relief, and realized with dismay that the pale pink had in fact been a mistake. The silk was so fine it was almost sheer, and the color practically blended into her skin. Worse still, when he had selected the gown he had failed to realize that the bodice was made entirely of a sheer ecru lace that merely shadowed, rather than concealing her breasts. It was a garment designed to seduce.

To know that she slept in things such as this every night…

He caught Orana watching him as she took a towel and squeezed the water dripping from Anabel’s wet hair.

“I hadn’t intended to pick something quite so revealing.” He confessed. “Does she have a more modest gown, perhaps?” 

To his surprise, Orana’s chin lifted, and she gave him a disapproving look. “My mistress must dress for the works she does during the day, so that people do not underestimate her strength. Is she not entitled to dress as a woman at night?” Her eyes widened as if she were surprised by her own outburst, and she quickly looked away, returning to drying Anabel’s hair.

As discomfited as Sebastian was by the whole situation, he had to hide a smile at the normally timid woman’s fiery defense of the woman who had rescued her and taken her in. “She is indeed.” He agreed.

She gave him a little nod and walked into the bedroom, busying herself with turning back the covers on the bed. 

Sebastian bent and lifted Anabel in his arms. She made a little noise of protest.

Without thinking he pressed his lips to the top of her head, cradling her closer. “Hush, sweeting. It’s all right.” 

She turned her face towards his chest and one arm curled around his neck. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently down on the bed, noticing as he did so that her sheets were silk. He couldn’t keep a smile from his face. A hedonist, he thought again, in the best sense of the word. Orana tucked the covers around her – more silk, Sebastian noted, this time a down stuffed comforter. Sebastian reached out and smoothed a damp curl away from her face, and unable to stop himself, bent and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I’ll be staying here tonight.” He told Orana, not taking his eyes from Anabel. She looked so young, and so fragile lying there.

Orana nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Of course, Messere.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Sebastian’s shirt was soaked with water. He thought briefly about taking it off, but settled instead for just untucking it, and loosening the ties so it could dry more easily. He was suddenly exhausted. He quickly extinguished all the lights in the room, leaving just one candle burning on the nightstand, and then pulled the armchair from in front of the fireplace to a spot beside the bed, and settled himself in it, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He fell asleep, almost immediately.

It seemed he had just dozed off when he was awoken by an unearthly scream.

“No!” Anabel was sitting up in bed, kicking off the covers, looking around wildly, reaching desperately for weapons that weren’t there.

He quickly climbed on the bed, and pulled her into his lap, wrapping her in his arms. She fought him until she heard his voice. 

“It’s all right, Anabel. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here.” Her whole body was shaking.

She gave a whimper of relief and clung to him. “Don’t go. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.” She pleaded.

“I’m not leaving Ana. I’m not going anywhere.” He held her close, stroking her hair and humming soothing tunes that he had vague memories of his nurse singing to him until her shaking had stopped and her grip on him became less frantic. Thinking she might be asleep, he tried to lay her down on the bed, but she wouldn’t let go of him, pressing herself up against him instead, and nuzzling her face into his neck. Her small hand curled tightly into the collar of his shirt. He couldn’t help a resigned smile. Apparently he was going nowhere right now. Still holding her, he carefully pushed off his boots, so as to avoid soiling the silk sheets, and then eased them both down.

Maker it felt so right lying here like this, with her in his arms. 

Eventually her grip on his shirt relaxed, and her hand fell to his chest, her breathing was soft and regular. She’d fallen back asleep.

He felt his own eyes begin to close. He should leave the bed.

He knew that.

Instead he pulled her closer. He would lie here, hold her for a just few minutes more. Just to make certain she was asleep. Surely there was no harm in that?

 

 

Orana crept into the room just after dawn to light the fire, her eyes adjusting quickly to the dimmer light. A small smile came to her face when she spotted the Prince beside her mistress in the large bed.

Quietly, she crossed the room to look at them.

Both were deeply asleep, on their sides facing each other. His strong arms were wrapped firmly around her, one hand in buried in her hair. She was clinging to his free arm, her head tucked securely against his chest.

They looked utterly at peace, and utterly content.

It was beautiful, thought Orana, watching them.

They loved each other so much, it was so clear. She didn’t understand what was keeping them apart, despite Bodahn’s attempts at an explanation. 

She reached down and gently pulled the cover up over them both. Neither stirred. She quickly lit the fire, and then bent and picked up the Prince’s boots and retrieved his jacket from the bathing chamber to take them downstairs to clean and press, smiling as she did so.

Bodahn insisted the Prince was a priest, that in spite of his feelings for Mistress Hawke, he was chaste, and that the Mistress respected his wishes in this.

Chaste? Orana remembered how his face had looked last night as he lifted her mistress out of the bathtub and held her while Orana had dried her off. Remembered the tender kiss he had placed on her forehead when he’d laid her on the bed. 

The Prince didn’t just love her. He desired her. And if he had renounced his vows as Bodahn had said there was no reason for them not to be together.

He just needed a gentle nudge in the right direction. They both did.

As if she couldn’t have lifted a tiny human like the mistress out of the bath, and dried her off and dressed her on her own.

Mistress Hawke was the most wonderful, kind person she had ever met. She deserved someone worthy of her.

Orana left the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She stood there a moment, with a satisfied smile on her face. 

Yes, she thought. Her mistress deserved a prince.

 

 

Sebastian came slowly awake, unsure of the time of day in Anabel’s heavily curtained bedroom.

It felt strangely familiar to wake to silk sheets again. Less familiar however, was the soft, scantily clothed armful of Anabel Hawke that was cuddled up against him.

He pulled the covers up over her shoulders and then lay back, savoring the feel of her. She was the most perfect armful. She just fit. He pulled her closer to him, inhaling the smell of scented soap and warm skin and she gave a small contented sigh and burrowed closer still. He tried to ignore his body’s response. 

It was quite possibly the sweetest torture ever devised.

He should get out of the bed. Before she woke up, he should get up, and move back to the chair where he should have spent the night.

But he made no move to do so. He lay where he was, savoring the feel of her in his arms.

What would it be like to wake like this every morning? To be able to press her back into the pillows and run his hands up her thighs while she was still warm and sleepy? Unbidden, his hand stroked down to her hip. He swallowed as he realized that at some point while she slept, her gown had hiked up, and his fingers were free to trail over the bare skin from her thigh all the way to her hip. 

They hadn’t bothered to put smalls on her yesterday after her bath, had they? His hand trailed over the swell of her hip to the dip of her waist.

There was little doubt he was headed for the Void.

She stirred in his arms, letting out an utterly contented _Mmmm_ , and he quickly moved his hand. She suddenly stiffened and rolled partway onto her back to look at him, blinking slowly, her confusion plain in her sleep clouded eyes. He had never seen anything quite so adorable. 

“Good Morning.” He said softly. 

“Hi.” She murmured. She looked around the room trying to figure out what time it was. “Have you been here all night?” _Have you been in my bed all night? And why, oh why, did I have to sleep through it?_

“I told you I would stay.” He pushed himself up on one elbow so he could look at her.

She was awake now. He should be getting up and out of her bed. There was no reason to stay in her bed. 

_Liar_ said his younger self.

No. He would not take advantage of her after all she had been through. “How are you this morning?”

There was a brief flash of pain in her eyes. “Better I think.” She said quietly. “Battered and bruised, but I feel like I’ll make it through. You’re back. That helps more than anything.” She couldn’t help reaching out and running her hand lightly along his jaw, feeling the razor stubble. 

It seemed odd to see Sebastian unshaven. Almost more intimate than lying in bed beside him.

Almost.

“Thank you. For staying, I mean.” She said, forcing herself to pull back her hand.

He brushed a curl from her cheek. “I’ll always be here if you need me.” 

Had they been standing she would have hugged him, and that was what she tried to do, but lying together like this it brought her whole body flush up against him. She slid one arm around him and nuzzled into his chest, twining the fingers of her other hand into the ties of his shirt. _Holy Maker_ , he thought as his body began to respond to the feel of her pressed against him. He slid his arms around her, and rolled so he lay on his back. The movement pulled her with him so she lay only partially draped over him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

She lay there, listening to his heartbeat with her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of him against her whole body, and for the first time in years she felt completely safe.

She hadn’t felt like this since she was very small. Her parents would be lying in their bed and she and Carver and Bethany would all come hurtling in together, and throw themselves on the bed, squirming their way under the covers between their two parents and all five of them would just lie there cuddling together. It was one of her happiest memories. Back when they’d all been together. When they’d all been safe. She felt a sudden tightness in her throat.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her fingers which had been tangled in the ties of his shirt slid to the bare skin of his chest, seeking the comfort of that warm skin.

“Of course.” He said automatically. The touch of her fingers was feather light, but it seemed to leave a trail like a brand on his skin. He took her hand, as much to feel it as to stop those caresses and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tips of her fingers.

“Do you really think we get to be with our loved ones after we die?”

He pulled back so he could look at her. He could see how desperately she wanted it to be true and he could answer her without any hesitation. “I do. With all my heart, I do. You don’t?”

“I want it to be true, but I’d never quite believed it. But at the end, when Mother…” Her voice trailed off and she gave a small shiver at the memory, and he leaned towards her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

Just the feel of his lips, the warmth that seemed to radiate from his body, seemed to lessen the ache and she could speak again. “She said she’d get to be with Da and Bethany again and she seemed so certain when she said it. She sounded so happy. There was something in her face. It made me hope.”

“I’ve seen that look before when I’ve attended deathbeds. As if they have a glimpse into something wonderful that we aren’t permitted to see yet.”

“Yes. I’d like to believe that’s what it was.”

“You can.” He assured her looking at her with all the love he felt for her.

She saw it and didn’t stop to think what kind of love it was. It didn’t matter. It was love and she wasn’t alone. It was enough.

She reached up her hand to caress his face, running a gentle finger down his cheek, looking at him in wonder. He loved her. 

He’d never had anyone look at him the way Anabel Hawke did. He could only strive to be worthy of it. He turned them so she was on her back now, and he was above her, and he leaned forward to place kiss to her forehead, intending it to be entirely chaste. Her eyes closed when he did, and he couldn’t help pressing his lips first to one lid, and then the other before pulling back.

Her eyes slowly opened and she stared up at him, just inches above her. He was watching her, those blue eyes seeming to almost glow in the dimly lit room. His expression was unreadable.

And suddenly lying like this felt nothing like when she was a child.

She licked her lips nervously and his eyes immediately went to the movement. Her lips parted, and her breath came a little faster. His hand slid from her waist to the bare skin of her hip.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

_Sweet Andraste. She wasn’t wearing smalls,_ she realized. _Why on Thedas wasn’t she wearing smalls?_

Sebastian’s thumb brushed against her hip bone and she suddenly forgot how to breathe altogether. 

_Sebastian seemed unsurprised by her lack of smalls. That was odd, wasn’t it?_

His fingers trailed down from her hip to her bare thigh, and she couldn’t stop the small noise that came from her throat.

Sebastian heard it and there was a sudden flare of desire in his eyes. He leaned forward and stopped just above her lips.

He shouldn’t. If he let himself do this, let himself kiss her while they were alone, lying in her bed together, with her barely clad, wearing nothing but a length of sheer silk and lace, he didn’t know if he could stop. Didn’t know if he’d want to stop.

His heart pounding, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, just the lightest of touches that produced another small sound from her. He felt his whole body tighten. He suddenly wondered, would she be a quiet lover or would she cry out her passion?

He could make her cry out. 

He must be mad, he thought, even as he leaned in for another kiss. Just one more. Just a taste of her.

As he leaned in again, there was a unexpected clatter of noise and voices and barking, and Orana protesting, and Sebastian barely had time to pull away from Anabel and to pull the covers over them both, when the door burst open and Boy came galloping in, jumping on the bed, greeting them both enthusiastically. He was followed closely by Isabela, Merrill and Varric. 

Isabela’s eyes took in the scene at a glance. Sebastian’s discomfort, Anabel’s flushed cheeks and slightly dazed look, and she cursed silently. Well there was no point in leaving now. She could already see Sebastian slipping back into the role of the proper priest. “Ooh, personalized bedside service from the Chantry.” She teased. “Marvelous idea. It’ll bring in all the unrepentant sinners. Though does it qualify as bedside if the priest is actually in the bed?”

She laughed delightedly as Anabel blushed. “You must be feeling better. You wouldn’t look nearly so embarrassed otherwise.” She clambered up onto the bed, flinging herself down on Anabel’s other side, and throwing an arm across her as she gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Unsurprisingly, her hand landed on Anabel’s breast. 

“Boy, get down.” Anabel said with a scowl. Boy gave a snuff of disappointment, but climbed off and curled up on the rug on the hearth. She turned the scowl on the pirate. “Boobs, Isabela.”

“Yes and aren’t they just lovely.” Said Isabela giving a light squeeze. “Though I’d probably say yours qualified more as tits than boobs.” She said with a look that was both appraising and admiring.

Anabel looked down at the sheer nightdress she had on. _Maker, you could see just everything. What in Thedas had possessed Orana to put her in this?_ She felt her cheeks grow hot and she suddenly couldn’t meet Sebastian’s eyes. “Merrill, pass me that shawl.”

Merrill grabbed the colorfully embroidered shawl that was draped by the foot of the bed and handed it to Hawke, before she too clambered up on the bed and sat cross legged at the foot of it. “I think Hawke has the prettiest breasts. All pert and perfect. They just suit her.” 

Sebastian couldn’t help but glance at the breasts in question.

Merrill was right. They were absolutely perfect. 

He looked up to find Isabela smiling knowingly at him. He quickly threw back the covers and scrambled out of the bed. “I should go. I’m long overdue at the Chantry.” He looked around the room for his boots and his jacket. They seemed to have disappeared.

“Sebastian, can’t I at least give you breakfast before you go?” Anabel had wrapped the silk shawl around her shoulders and he felt a momentary pang at the loss of the sight of her breasts. What was wrong with him? If the others hadn’t arrived he might have…he would have taken advantage of her when she was only just beginning to recover from the loss of her mother. It was the act of a scoundrel. The act of someone who used people for their own pleasure, no matter what the cost.

It was something he would have done before he’d joined the Chantry.

He was horrified at how close he had come. He needed to leave. He bent and peered under the bed.

“Looking for something, Choir Boy?” Asked Varric, his amusement at Sebastian’s discomfort apparent.

‘Uh…my boots. And my coat?” Had he left that in the bathing chamber?

The door to the bedroom opened and Sandal and Bodahn came in carrying trays with enough food on them to feed a small army. They wordlessly unloaded them on the desk in the corner. 

Varric immediately went over to pour himself a cup. “Coffee, Hawke?” He asked.

“Please, Varric. Bodahn, have you seen Brother Sebastian’s boots and coat?” She was pleased with how normal she managed to sound.

“Yes, Messere." Said Bodahn as he opened the curtains, letting in the light. "I believe Orana took them to clean and press when she lit the fires this morning. Shall I have her bring them up?” 

“Please.” She said taking her coffee from Varric.

Sebastian was utterly perplexed by her behavior. She seemed completely undisturbed by the number of people in her bedroom, or the fact that she had woken up with a priest in her bed or that the people in her bedroom knew she had had a priest in her bed. She seemed to have forgotten what had almost happened. Or perhaps she just didn’t realize how close they had come...

Varric settled himself in the chair by the desk with his own cup of coffee. As Bodahn and Sandal turned to leave Anders walked in the door, and he stepped aside to let them pass. He stopped there when he saw Sebastian, taking in the man’s bare feet, and untucked shirt with a scowl, before ignoring him, and pouring himself a cup of tea from the tray. Without saying a word he crossed the room and climbed on to the bed next to Hawke, taking the space Sebastian recently vacated. He looked carefully at her, and then planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You look much better.” He said.

Sebastian felt his fists clench as he noted the ease with which Anders simply climbed into Anabel’s bed. Never mind the fact that there were already two others on it with them, or that he himself had just left said bed. 

Anabel gave Sebastian a smile so brilliant that he instantly forgot his petty jealousies. “It’s a wonder what a good night’s sleep will do. Sebastian, you might as well grab something to eat while you wait. You must be hungry.” 

He was ravenous, actually. He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Bemused he went over to the table and helped himself to some coffee. His eyes went back to the four on the bed. 

“You keep frowning like that Choir Boy and you’ll get wrinkles.” Varric commented.

“Everyone seems very much at home here.” His eyes lingered on Anders lounging next to Hawke. He scowled as the mage gently moved a stray curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear. They were all chattering away. No, that wasn’t right. Anabel, though she was smiling softly, was quiet. 

“Used to be the only room that Leandra wouldn’t come in complaining about her disreputable friends. It’s sort of become a habit. Food’s better since she hired Orana.” Varric said, idly munching on a pastry.

It gradually began to feel very much like any of their gatherings. If Anabel was a little quieter, or laughed a little less, no one commented and everyone seemed to be a bit gentler with her than usual.

Orana came in with Sebastian’s boots and jacket just as Isabela was recounting a story of Aveline’s finding her in the barracks with two of the newest recruits. He quickly pulled on his boots and catching Anabel’s eye, he lifted his hand in farewell and left the room before she could protest. He wasn’t even at the stairs before he heard her calling his name.

“Sebastian, wait.” She came running up to him, barefooted, the shawl slipping off her shoulders, giving him just a glimpse of those perfect breasts again. He had to fight his desire for her all over again.

She slid her hand into his. “I just wanted to say thank you. You’re always there when I need someone most. I don’t know how you do it.” She said staring up at him. “I’m so very lucky to have you as a friend.” 

Her face hid nothing. Every emotion she felt for him was right there. He didn’t deserve such trust, such unquestioning affection. If the others hadn’t come in…. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss there. “I’m the fortunate one, Anabel.”

She hesitated before asking carefully. “You’re leaving so suddenly. You aren’t upset with me, are you?”

He was genuinely confused. “Upset with you? Why would I be upset with you?”

“Because you ended up staying the night. In bed. With me.” _And I was wearing sheer night clothes and no smalls._

She really needed to ask Orana about that, but wasn’t sure how you would phrase the question: _By the way, I didn’t seem to be wearing underclothes last night when I was in bed with that celibate priest. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?_

She forced herself to look back at Sebastian. “Things won’t be weird now, will they?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her cheeks were bright pink. 

He couldn’t help smiling at the picture she made. She was such a strange mix of enticing seductress and innocent waif. “No. Not weird at all.” But he knew they’d be different now. He’d woken up with her in his arms. He would never forget how that felt and he’d never be able to wake up without feeling her absence.

“Will you come back later? Tell me how your trip was?”

He hadn’t planned on returning today. He shouldn’t. She was too great a temptation. He opened his mouth to say no, his duties at the Chantry wouldn’t allow it but what came out was. “Do you want me to come back?” It sounded almost flirtatious.

She smiled then, like a cat who had just been given a bowl of cream. “Yes.” 

He couldn’t help but smile in return. “Then I’ll be back later.” He bent and kissed her cheek and went quickly down the stairs shaking his head at his own foolishness.

He needed to pray. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration pictures and other Dragon Age related ramblings can be found here:
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	30. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian confesses to Elthina that he spent the night in Hawke's bed. Her advice is not what he had expected. Later in the day he returns to Hawke's, where Isabela continues her string of inadvertent cock blocking.

Sebastian didn’t make it back to the Chantry in time for the early morning service, but he took the opportunity to wash up and change into his robes. When he’d finished he knelt and tried to pray, but his thoughts were too disordered. He sat on the bed and looked around the room that had been his for the last thirteen years.

After his trip to Tantervale, after his night spent holding Anabel in his arms, suddenly everything felt small: the bath, the room, his robes, and most of all his narrow bed as he sat there trying to think how he could even begin the conversation he needed to have with the Grand Cleric. He sat there for several minutes with no answer and finally gave up and headed down to Elthina’s office. Hopefully she would be able to see through his confusion and guide him as she had ever since he’d joined the Chantry. 

He found her seated at her desk, looking over the morning’s correspondence. She looked up at the sound of his knock and smiled when she saw who it was. “Sebastian. I hoped you would come and see me this morning. How is our Hawke? Were you able to offer her comfort?”

A myriad of such diverse expressions crossed his face that she wondered what could possibly have happened. “Is everything all right?” She asked, a concerned frown on her kindly face.

“I believe I helped her, yes. But other things happened. Things that I truly didn’t intend. Things that shouldn’t have happened, not while she’s in such an emotionally vulnerable state.” He was almost afraid to look at Elthina. “I was hoping you would you hear my confession?” He asked looking at her finally. 

To her credit and his relief, nothing he had said had changed the serenity of her expression. “Of course, Sebastian. Would you prefer to go to the confessionals, or remain here?”

“Here, please, Grand Cleric.” He was worried that if he couldn’t see Elthina’s face and know that she could see his that it would be all too easy to gloss over some things and leave others out altogether.

Elthina nodded. “Very well. Tell Sister Alma we don’t wish to be disturbed, and then close the door, please.”

He did as she asked, returning to find she had moved to one of the two armchairs set up by the fire. He sat in the chair opposite, and as he had feared, couldn’t think how to begin. “Forgive me…” He said. 

_Forgive me for I have sinned._

It was the traditional start to a confession. But what had happened didn’t feel like a sin to him.

“Perhaps we could be more informal today.” Elthina suggested, seeing his turmoil.

“Yes.” He said gratefully. He hesitated again, still not knowing where to start. With the bath? With his climbing into Anabel’s bed and remaining there? With the way the skin of her hip had felt beneath his fingers and of how, if the others hadn’t interrupted he might have found out if the rest of her was as velvety soft? He closed his eyes trying to bring some order to his chaotic thoughts.

Elthina took pity on him. “Tell me of your meeting with Lord Maclaren. You returned early, so it either went very well, or very badly.” 

“Well, I think.” Sebastian said, relieved she was allowing him to ease into the confession. “I was glad to be able to show him that I had changed since we’d last met, and he seemed pleasantly surprised. We had a good conversation.”

“And has it helped you in your decision?”

Sebastian’s answer, when he gave it, was cautious. “It’s made me think that my return might be more welcomed than I’d believed. It’s made me want to speak with others and hear their thoughts. Lord Maclaren believes that while Goran’s rule isn’t directly harming Starkhaven, neither is it doing the city any good. Many feel things are stagnating. No new trade has been established. The Starkhaven Circle still lies in ruins. Less scrupulous lords and ladies are taking the opportunity for personal gain and with the head of Starkhaven so weak, there’s no one to stop them. Lord Maclaren feels that if things continue this way, it will eventually have an adverse effect.” 

“And after speaking with you, he believes you could be a stronger leader than your cousin?”

“He hopes so. I believe he’s willing to give me the opportunity to show him that I could be.”

“And is this good news or bad?” She asked, watching his face carefully.

He took a deep breath before he answered. “Good. Maker help me. I find myself wanting this. Not the way I did when I was a boy. Not in order to best my brothers. Not to win, but because I believe I could be of use to Starkhaven.”

She smiled then, and he quickly continued lest she get the wrong idea. “I haven’t decided though. I want to meet with others. See if they share Lord Maclaren’s opinion, and of course I would have to convince them of my own sincerity. The impression I left on Starkhaven was not a positive one. It will take time to change it. And I would only return if I was truly wanted. I won’t ask anyone to give up their lives so I can rule.”

“Of course.” She reassured him. “And you have a home here for as long as you need it.”

“Thank you Grand Cleric. For everything. To know that I have a place here, no matter what, is a great comfort to me.”

“I’m glad the meeting went so well.” She answered, before sitting back in her chair. “So, tell me how our Hawke is. I was very worried about her after the funeral. She seemed to be holding everything inside. She seemed quite frail.”

He thought of how Anabel had looked standing at the top of the stairs last night, the scissors clutched in her hand. ”Yes, she was. She blames herself for her mother’s death, for not getting there in time. It’s hit her very hard. As you know, her feelings for her mother were complicated.”

Elthina’s face showed her regret. “Leandra wanted so much to be able to explain things to her, Maker rest her soul. If only she had been given the chance.”

Elthina didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to see her before he’d left for Tantervale. “The Maker granted them that small gift, at least.” He said, glad he could reassure her. “They finally had a meaningful conversation about their differences. It was difficult for both of them, but I think Anabel has at least some understanding of why her mother treated her the way she did.”

“Thank the Maker.” Said Elthina. “That must be of some comfort to Hawke at least.”

“I think it is.” Sebastian agreed. “Or at least it will be eventually. I’m not certain Anabel sees it right now. Now she only feels the loss.” He thought again of how she fragile she had appeared when he’d arrived. “She was so… lost when I got there. She’d not eaten nor slept since her mother’s death. She seemed so alone, in spite of her companions being there in the house with her.”

Ethina’s face softened as she watched him. He cared for Hawke so much. “It was a blessing that you arrived back when you did. You were able to offer her some solace?”

“Yes. I took care of her. I made sure she ate and slept. I stayed the night with her.” He said looking down at his hands. After a moment he looked up at Elthina to see how she had taken that piece of information.

She had a slight frown on her face. “You were alone together? Or did others stay as well?”

“There were the servants.” He began to say, but under Elthina’s watchful gaze he stopped himself. “Yes.” He admitted. “We were alone.” 

After a pause she commented. “I see.” 

“I had all intentions of remaining in the chair by her bed.” He hastened to explain. “I only wished to be there for her. To take care of her. I had no expectation or intention that anything would happen. I didn’t plan it.” He knew he was talking far too fast. “She was sound asleep when I carried her from the bath. But later she had a nightmare. She was screaming and I climbed into the bed to hold her. I merely intended to comfort her and ….” He knew he must sound like a lunatic.

Elthina held a hand up to stop him. “I think perhaps you should start from the beginning, Sebastian, and leave nothing out.”

“The beginning?” He repeated, not understanding.

“You arrived at Hawke’s house…” Elthina prompted.

She wouldn’t let him take the easy way out, he realized, and he offered a prayer of thanks for that. “I arrived at Hawke’s house…” He echoed and suddenly the whole tale was pouring out. All of it. Everything that had happened, everything he had done, everything he had thought. Later he would be embarrassed that he had revealed so much to the Grand Cleric, but right now it was a sheer relief to be able to speak the words, to be forced to acknowledge his actions. 

He ended the tale pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “And then I left and came here. She asked me to return tonight and I couldn’t refuse her. I don’t know what will happen.” He looked at Elthina. For the most part she’d remained silent while he was speaking. He’d thought he caught her hiding a smile once, but that must have been his imagination. “If her companions hadn’t arrived when they did I don’t know if I would have stopped. To wake like that, holding her, to feel the warmth of her skin, to feel the touch of her hand, and see the expression in her eyes when she looked at me. I couldn’t resist her.”

“Are you saying Hawke seduced you?” Asked Elthina.

He looked at her, aghast that she could have reached that conclusion. “No! Anabel is entirely innocent. She was simply there. She was simply Anabel. That was all she needed to be.”

“So you find her physically attractive?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Attractive is a feeble word for it.”

“And are your feelings for her purely physical?” She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“No, not at all.” 

“And is it merely friendship you feel for her, or something more?”

“It’s more than physical and far more than friendship.” He confessed. “I’ve never cared for anyone the way I care for her.” 

“You love her.” It was a statement not a question.

He’d barely admitted it to himself. He’d never said the words out loud, and certainly never said them to Anabel. “Yes.”

“You love her, and you desire her.” 

He couldn’t deny it. “Maker help me, yes.” He sat down in the chair again.

“And after your meeting with Lord Maclaren, you are more inclined towards attempting to retake the throne of Starkhaven?”

“If what Lord Maclaren said is true, and if others feel the same way.” He said cautiously.

Elthina’s face was carefully neutral as she asked her next question. “Perhaps you think that Hawke isn’t fit to be a Princess of Starkhaven, and that your continued association might hinder your chances? She is after all just the daughter of a penniless apostate.”

Sebastian’s head lifted and he positively bristled with outrage. “Her mother was from one of the finest families in the Free Marches. But even if that weren’t so, Anabel has brought herself up from nothing, achieved wealth and position entirely through her own actions. The nobles, the commoners, the elves, even the Qunari respect her. The Viscount himself has indicated that he wants to make her his heir. That alliance alone – the Prince of Starkhaven and the Viscountess of Kirkwall would be something never before seen in the Free Marches.” He was barely aware that he risen to his feet and was stalking back and forth as he spoke. “But none of that matters. Even without her wealth and position and family connections, Anabel Hawke would be a worthy wife for any man on Thedas, a blessing, because she is quite simply, extraordinary. She strives every day to make the world a better place, to push back against the darkness, as she puts it. And she does so with no expectation of reward, does so with a smile on her face and a joyful heart. Starkhaven would be fortunate to have her as their princess! And I would be the luckiest man alive if she would consent to being my wife!”

He ended shouting, and the words echoed through the room when he had finished.

He stood there stunned by what he’d said. No, not by what he’d said, but by the fact he had said it, and said it aloud. He’d felt it for months. He’d never articulated it.

Elthina didn’t try and hide her smile this time. “Forgive me, Sebastian, but I’m not certain I see what the problem is.” 

He opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. He sank back into the chair. After a moment he spoke. “I’m afraid, Grand Cleric. If I fail to take back Starkhaven, if I am neither priest nor prince, if I have no place and no purpose, what can I offer her?” He stared down at the floor. “I have nothing of my own. What could I bring to a union between us?” 

“Yourself, and the love you have for her.” Said Elthina without hesitation. “But perhaps that isn’t your greatest fear?”

As always, she saw to the heart of the matter. “No. It is a concern, but it’s not what I truly fear.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “If I’m not the prince or the priest, if I fail at both, will I go back to being the man I was before? Interested only in my own pleasure, so careless of those around me. Purposeless. What would committing to such a man do to her? Would it break her spirit? Would it crush that joy that is such a part of her? Or worse still, what if I corrupt her, what if I make her like me?”

Elthina looked astonished. “Sebastian! I’m surprised at you.” She leaned forward and took his hands. “Do you truly think so little of yourself?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I do.” He said ruefully.

“Then I would urge you to throw away both modesty and humility, at least temporarily, and remember all the good you have done since you came to Kirkwall.” She said firmly. “Has it been such a burden, such a chore helping others? Has it been so unrewarding that you think you would go back to that meaningless life you led before?”

“It’s been very rewarding.”

“Do you think your vows some sort of magic spell that has made the good you’ve done matter? That they keep you from wrongdoing?”

“No, of course not.” 

“Would you call all the good Hawke has done purposeless because she hasn’t taken vows and isn’t part of the Chantry?”

“No.” He was beginning to feel somewhat foolish.

“So why would you think not being bound by your vows to the Chantry would cause you to go back to that life that made you so unhappy?” She continued without waiting for his answer. “You say you’re worried you would corrupt Hawke. Do you think so little of her? Is she so very weak willed?”

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling then. “She has one of the strongest wills I’ve ever encountered. She’s a stubborn one.” 

“Does she love you?” 

He started to say he wasn’t certain but then he thought about how her face lit up when she saw him. The glow in those magnificent eyes when she looked at him. “Yes. Andraste take pity on her. I think she truly does.” He couldn’t keep from smiling then. He looked at Elthina to find her smiling as well.

As if it were all settled. His smile faltered. “But that doesn’t change that I have nothing to offer her right now.”

“Do you think that truly matters to her?” Elthina asked. She was certain that Hawke would have him with nothing but the clothes on his back. 

“It matters to me.” He said stubbornly. Suddenly all his doubts seemed to return. “I can’t be with her if I bring nothing to the union.” 

“Is she so mercenary? She never struck me as such.”

“No. She isn’t.” He was forced to admit. “This is my own pride talking. She deserves so much. I would offer her nothing less than a prince. But taking back Starkhaven might take years, if it happens at all. How can I ask her to wait for such uncertainty? Surely that’s not fair to her?” Suddenly returning to the Chantry seemed the easier option, and far less dangerous, for everyone involved.

“Shouldn’t Hawke be given the chance to decide that for herself?” Elthina asked. "Speak with her, Sebastian. Explain it to her. Let her know that isn’t that you can never be with her or that you don’t wish to be with her. With the blessing of the Maker and his Bride, there is every possibility that you will be able to be together, if not right now, then eventually. Let it be her decision to wait or not. If you aren’t honest with her about this now, then your relationship will have no chance.” 

He nodded slowly, recognizing the wisdom of her words. It wasn’t that he couldn’t ever be with Anabel. He simply couldn’t be with her yet. Surely she would understand that. She loved him. Surely she would wait.

He felt himself begin to hope. He might be able to have this dream. Have Anabel. Have a lifetime with her. 

 

 

Anabel drifted through mansion after she’d finally convinced the others to leave. It felt strangely empty without Leandra, but she needed to feel that emptiness. To grow accustomed to it. She hesitated in front of the door to Leandra’s room, but couldn’t bring herself to go in.

Eventually she found herself in the library. She sat down in one the armchairs by the fire, and stared at the statue that loomed over her.

Maker, she hated that thing.

_So take it down._

She blinked in surprise. She could now, couldn’t she? 

Feeling suddenly determined, she dragged the chair over to the fireplace, and climbing on the back of it, hoisted herself up onto the oversized mantel. She peered behind the monstrosity, trying to see just how it was attached. There seemed to be wire and several hooks up by the thing’s head but there wasn’t enough light to be certain. She frowned.

Perhaps she could reach it from the top?

The only problem with that solution was that the damned thing was taller than she was. She grasped hold of one the arms that held the shield, and putting one foot on the bent knee of the thing, hoisted herself up, first to the knee and then onto arm itself. From there it was easy to clamber onto the shoulder. She bent practically double over it, and stuck her arm behind its head, straining to feel the hook, or nail or whatever it was that kept it hanging there.

“Sweet Andraste!” 

Her head jerked up in surprise and she almost lost her balance, but she managed to catch a hold of the statue’s head. She smiled when she saw who it was. “Sebastian! I thought you wouldn’t be by until later.”

“Anabel Hawke, what on Thedas are you doing up there?” He demanded.

She looked as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “I want to take this thing down. I’ve always hated it.”

Sebastian just stared at her. Bodahn had told him she was in the library. Foolish man that he was he’d thought he’d find her reading a book, rather than quite literally climbing the walls. “And it seemed a good idea to do it all on your own? What if you fell? Or it fell on you?” The statue was bigger than she was, and certainly heavier. What was she thinking? “How did you even get up there?”

“I climbed of course.” She’d leaned forward casually resting her elbows on the shield. 

Of course. “Climbed what?” There wasn’t a ladder in sight.

“The chair. And then the statue. It’s fine. You worry too much.” The words had barely left her lips when, with a groan of splintering wood, the whole thing suddenly tilted alarmingly. She grabbed the shield to keep from falling. “Oops.” She said with a laugh.

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat and he took a step closer holding up his arms as if that could keep her and the monstrosity both from falling. “Anabel, please come down.”

“Maybe I should.” She agreed. She slid from the statue to the mantel just as the statue gave another small creak, and shifted again. She gave it a small push. It moved quite easily now.

“Come down Anabel.” Sebastian said reaching out his arms to her. 

It was impossible to resist. She walked to the edge of the mantel, knowing she could easily get down on her own. There was no reason he needed to hold her in his arms like she was some sort of helpless maiden.

Except for the fact that he’d be holding her in his arms, of course.

_Helpless maiden it was then._

She leaned forward, resting her hands on his shoulders and he put his hands around her waist and lifted her, feeling the warmth of her skin through the silk of her shirt. Even after her feet had touched the floor he kept his hands on her waist, craving even that small contact. He looked down at her. Standing next to him in her bare feet, her head barely came to his shoulder, she was so small. Far too small to be constantly getting into such trouble.

“What were you thinking, climbing up there like that, all by yourself? You could have broken your neck.” He admonished. 

“I thought it was a little more securely fastened.” She said giving the statue an accusing look. It was now hanging at a definite angle. “Turns out he’s not very well hung, is he?” 

He couldn’t help smiling. “It’s rather difficult for me to judge from this angle. The shield’s in the way.” 

Her eyes went round and her mouth dropped open … he couldn’t have meant. She looked up at him. He had a mischievous smile on his face. 

No, mischievous wasn’t the word. Naughty. He looked downright naughty. She was startled at how well the look suited him. 

He must have been such trouble when he was younger.

She started giggling and blushing simultaneously and he couldn’t help laughing as well. For the first time since his return from Tantervale, he saw the dimple in her cheek. It was such a relief to see it that he couldn’t help pulling her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest.

“You came back.” She said, happily.

Maker she felt perfect like this. Memories of waking with her folded in his arms came flooding back and he tried to push them back. He needed to speak with her before he even considered letting himself have that. “I said I would.” He reminded her. 

“Yes, you did.” She agreed. She looked up to find him watching her in a way that made her heart beat faster. She wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

“You look better.” He said finally.

“I am I think. Relatively speaking. I tried going into Mother’s room earlier. Couldn’t even turn the door handle.” She tried to say it lightly, but there was suddenly a lump in her throat. She leaned her forehead against his chest.

He lifted his hand and gently stroked her hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

“You’re here now.” 

He bent and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Someone cleared their throat and they both looked over to find Bodahn standing in the doorway holding a tray. “Excuse me, Messere. Orana thought you might want some wine and refreshments."

She forced herself to step away from Sebastian. “Thank you Bodahn. That would be lovely. Please thank Orana.”

They watched as he placed the tray on the desk in the corner, and left, closing the door behind him, leaving them alone together. 

Ignoring the sudden urge she had to fling herself back into his arms, she walked calmly over and poured them both wine. She handed him his. “Tell me about Tantervale.” She commanded.

“Yes. I want to hear what you think.” They settled themselves in the chairs by the fire and he told her all about it. Everything he and Lord Maclaren had discussed. Starkhaven, Goran, his own misspent youth. 

She listened attentively and asked many questions, leaving him once again surprised by her grasp of politics. If the Viscount did in fact name her as his heir it would be a blessing for Kirkwall. He looked down at her. She’d left her chair and moved to the floor, sitting cross legged with her elbows on her knees, her thick braid over her shoulder. She was staring into the fire as she listened to him speak. The firelight played off her bright hair and his voice trailed off at the sight of her. She shouldn’t look this beautiful, not sitting there on the floor in plain leggings and bare feet and an untucked shirt. He’d never wanted anyone more. Not just physically, but in every way. 

Could he truly do this? Was he going to let himself take the risk? 

When he stopped talking she glanced over at him, finding him watching her again with that same look she’d seen earlier. She tilted her head. “What is it?” she asked with a slight smile.

“I was just thinking.” He said.

“About the meeting?”

“About you actually. Lord Maclaren was asking about you.” 

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “About me?”

“Yes. Apparently talk of our association has made it even to Starkhaven.”

“Oh.” A hint of worry came to eyes. “What did he ask?”

“Mostly if all the tales about you were true.”

“Oh dear. I am sorry.” She looked dismayed.

“For what? He wanted to know if you’d truly slain dragons, and blood mages, if the Qunari really did come to you for help. I was happy to tell him that all those stories were true.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And nothing was said about my being a penniless Fereldan refugee, or a mercenary with the Red Iron, or the daughter of an apostate?” Her heart gave a painful twist as she remembered just how truly unsuited she was to share this life with him. She turned back to look at the fire again.

Sebastian didn’t mention that by his second day in Tantervale, Lord Maclaren had heard of what had happened at Saemus Dumar’s funeral: that the Viscount had seemed to indicate that he would name Anabel as his heir. That was what the majority of his questions had been about. Anabel been disturbed enough by Dumar's actions that day. He wasn’t going to let her know that it was now the talk of the Free Marches.

“No, actually." He replied. "He was very curious about the Deep Roads expedition, though, and about Carver’s being a Grey Warden. Starkhaven’s always had an interest in the Grey Wardens, ever since the final battle of the Second Blight was fought there.”

“Corin and Neriah.” She murmured. “It’s a romantic tale. The mage Grey Warden, sacrificing herself so her lover could slay the archdemon. And then he died as well.”

“Yes. Starkhaven likes its romances. Even when they’re tragic.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I wrote to Carver today. To let him know. Gamlen already had, but I wanted to as well.” She hugged her knees to her and stared into the fire. “It was an awful letter. I must have started it over a dozen times. It was awkward and stammering and I just ended up apologizing over and over. I finally just sealed it up and sent it to Ansberg. I think that’s where he’s stationed now. I don’t know for certain. He might not hear for months. It seems wrong that he doesn’t know she’s dead.” And suddenly she was crying again. Sebastian was instantly by her side, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” She managed to get out. “I thought I was done with this.”

“Oh, Ana.” He smoothed her hair back and pulling out a handkerchief gently wiped her tears away. “You probably won’t be done with it for some time. There’s no shame in that.” 

“I’m not ashamed. I just dislike being so feeble.” She said with a sigh.

“You’re hardly feeble.” He said. He hated seeing her upset. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket, and felt something there. A smile came to his face. Perhaps this would cheer her. “I’ve a gift for you.” He said.

She pulled back her head to look at him, appearing completely nonplussed. “A gift?” She repeated.

“Yes. I forgot about it yesterday.” He pulled out a small fabric wrapped bundle about the size of his hand and held it out to her. “I saw it in a market in Tantervale. I thought it would suit you.” 

She stared at it, but didn’t touch it. “For me?”

Surely that couldn’t be such an odd occurrence. “Yes, for you.” He took her hand and pressed the package into it.

"What is it?" She asked, not making any move to open it.

"Perhaps you could open it and find out." He suggested.

Feeling slightly embarassed, and more than a little foolish, she unwrapped it and stared down at it. 

It was a hair comb made of skillfully woven together copper strands, framing some sort of deep blue green stones she hadn’t seen before. It was one of the loveliest things she’d ever seen. And he’d bought it for her.

He began to worry when she didn’t say anything. “It’s nothing valuable.” He said apologetically. “I’m afraid my funds don’t run to gold and jewels. The stones are something called chrysocolla. They reminded me of your eyes.”

She ran a finger over the largest stone. “It’s beautiful.” She said hoarsely.

She sounded as if she might cry.

“Ana? What’s wrong?” He lifted her chin so she was looking at him.

Her eyes were bright with tears, but she was smiling. “You were thinking of me.”

“Yes, you ridiculous woman.” He said, giving her nose a light tap with his finger. “I was thinking of you. Everywhere I went, everyone I saw, every conversation I had. You were constantly on my mind.” 

“I’m glad.”

He shook his head but couldn’t keep from smiling back. Could she honestly have any doubts about the place she held in his heart? 

_How would she know what place she holds when you’ve never told her?_

He put her away from him and took her hands in his. “We need to talk.” He said gently.

Her smile faded away. “All right.” Her worry only grew when for a moment he didn’t say anything.

“You know better than anyone but Elthina the struggle I’ve had about what path my life should take. I still don’t know what the future holds for me, but after this trip…” His voice trailed off. “This trip to Tantervale has led me to believe that my return to Starkhaven may not be as unwelcome as I had thought. That I might be wanted there.” He paused again, wanting desperately to say this properly. He tried to bring some order to his chaotic thoughts.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” She asked tentatively.

“Yes. I think it is.” He said, looking down at their joined hands. “But truth be told, I’m still horribly muddled about everything. Part of me still craves the peace and simplicity of my life in the Chantry, and the purpose that I’ve found there. Part of me feels the duty of my responsibilities to Starkhaven and to my family and the need to claim the throne. I think I could find a purpose there. I think might do some good.” He finally looked at her again, but she couldn’t read his expression. “And then there’s you.”

“Me?” She said it low. Her heart had begun pounding uncomfortably when he’d said those awful words: _we need to talk_. Nothing good had ever followed those words in her experience. Had he made a decision? 

“Neither of us has mentioned what happened this morning.” He watched as her cheeks turned pink, and he continued before she could say anything. “What happened between us has convinced me that my feelings for you are a far more important factor in my decision than I had previously been willing to admit.”

She swallowed hard. “Do you mean you don’t wish to see me anymore?”

“No. Maker, no, that’s not it at all. It’s quite the opposite.” He was making a mess of it already. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I care for you Anabel, so very much, but I’m at a point in my life where I can’t offer you anything, certainly not the life you deserve. If I do decide to try and reclaim the throne, it might take years and I can’t even know for certain if it will even happen. I’m still not entirely convinced that it wouldn’t be better for everyone if I remained a brother in the Chantry. But then I think of you, I see you, I touch you and…” He looked down at the small hands he was holding. “You mean so much to me. My life is in such an uncertain state right now, I can’t make you any promises. I have no right to ask you to wait when I simply don’t know what the future holds for me.” Maker he sounded like an idiot. “I’m making no sense at all. I’m sorry. What I’m asking is so selfish. So horribly unfair to you.” 

She stared at him, a confused frown on her face. She didn’t know quite what he was saying, or asking, but there was only one thing that mattered to her. “You’ll still be in my life? You’ll still be my friend?”

“Always. But…”

She cut him off, placing her fingers lightly on his lips. “No. I don’t need to know anything more. I just want you in my life, Sebastian. How is just details.” 

She was undervaluing herself. She shouldn’t be settling for what little he could offer her. She should be demanding that he choose, that he decide, and do it now. She should be insisting that he give her everything she deserved: love, marriage, children and yes, pleasure as well.

And he was such a selfish bastard that he was going to let her.

“I don’t deserve you.” He confessed.

There was a sudden twinkle in her eyes. “You’re not the first to offer that complaint.” 

He leaned forward and kissed her then, a gentle kiss on the mouth. Surely he could allow himself that. There was nothing lewd or unseemly about a soft kiss in front of the fire.

When he pulled back she stared him for a moment and then got to her knees, closing the distance between them.

He watched her, knowing what she was going to do before she did it. She’d never done it before. She’d never been the one to initiate a kiss between them. 

With him on the floor and her on her knees her head was slightly higher than his, and for once he had to look up to see her. Some part of her wondered at her own nerve. She slowly leaned down, looking at his mouth. That perfect mouth. She’d intended to just kiss him, but instead she caught that perfectly sculpted upper lip between her own, nibbling lightly on it, as if it were some kind of delicacy that she rarely encountered. 

The movement was so unexpected and sent such a thrill through him that he couldn’t help but respond in kind, and for a few minutes they simply tasted each other with most delicate of teasing kisses.

 _Sweet Andraste,_ he thought, _How could something so innocent feel so erotic?_

It was Anabel who pulled away first, her breath coming faster. She rested her forehead against his, bringing up her hands up around his neck, and gave a shaky laugh. “We’ve thrown that whole no touching thing right out the door, haven’t we?” 

He tried to ignore the throbbing ache between his legs, and could only pray she hadn’t noticed it. “It didn’t seem to be working very well for us anyway.” 

She leaned forward for another taste. “We should probably get up off the floor.” She murmured. “Isabela’s coming to spend the night. I had to answer more than a few awkward questions after you left. I’d rather not have to answer more.” But instead of getting up, she leaned forward and kissed him again.

“Isabela’s spending the night?” He caught that full upper lip between his own, tugging gently at it.

“Yes.” She said when he’d released her lip. She leaned forward to kiss him again and stopped when she saw the expression on his face. “You’re frowning.” 

He’d remembered the way the pirate had touched her when she was supposedly teaching her to belly dance, and suddenly all he could see was the two of them rolling about in Hawke’s ridiculously large bed. “I’m wondering if you might not be safer if I stayed again.”

She laughed then. “I’ll be fine. Isabela would never go any farther than teasing with someone who was uninterested or unwilling, and though I love her dearly she knows that I don’t feel that way about her.” She moved her hand from his neck to the side of his face. “Whereas with you….” She remembered all too well the feeling of his hand on the skin of her hip. The sudden flash of heat in his eyes told her he was remembering it as well.

“Yes.” He murmured, his voice low. “Perhaps you are safer with Isabela.”

Her heart was pounding. “I’m not sure if safer is the right word. I’ve always felt safe with you. Safer than with anyone.” 

There was such trust in her eyes. He couldn’t resist kissing her again, and not softly this time, winding that thick braid around his hand as he did. She responded with equal passion. He felt her hands slide into his hair and he slipped his arms around her back. One hand inadvertently slid beneath her shirt, and he made unexpected discovery that apparently Anabel Hawke was not wearing a breastband today. His arms tightened on her so suddenly that she fell forward and he fell back, pulling her down on top of him and breaking the kiss. They stared at each other, wide-eyed. His hand stroked the soft skin of her back. 

“Maker’s tits! Will the two of you learn to lock a door? I’ve never accidentally cock blocked someone so many times in one day in my life.” 

Anabel didn’t even bother to turn around. “Hi, Izzy.” She said still staring at Sebastian in wonder.

Strangely, he didn’t feel the need to move at all. He just lay there with Anabel on top of him. 

“We could leave.” The pirate offered after a moment. 

_We?_ Anabel looked over. Merrill was standing beside Isabela, a delighted smile on her face. “Hi Merrill.”

“Hello Hawke. Hello Sebastian.”

“Hello, Merrill.” He said, not taking his eyes from Anabel, or his hands from the warm skin of her back. 

“Sebastian’s worried you’re going to corrupt me, Isabela.” Anabel said turning back to him with a mischievous grin. 

He couldn't help smiling back.

“Nonsense." said Isabela. "I’ve an entirely wholesome evening planned. With alcohol. Wholesome alcohol.” She amended. 

“You mean it’s not that swill from the Hanged Man.” Said Hawke with a laugh.

Without batting an eye Isabela responded. “Of course not. We’re drinking the stuff from your cellar tonight. Besides from where I’m standing the wicked prince looks like he’s got the corrupting quite well in hand.”

Sebastian’s whole body stiffened at her words. Sweet Andraste what had he been thinking? The answer was obviously that he hadn’t been.

Until he was able to give her everything she deserved he had no right to touch her like this. None at all. He quickly pulled his hands away.

Anabel saw his unease and putting it down to simple embarrassment, she rolled off of him. He got to his feet without a word and then pulled her to hers.

“I’ll leave you ladies to your wholesome evening.” He bent and pressed a quick kiss to Anabel’s forehead. “I’ll see myself out.” He said and was gone before she could even respond.

She stared after him with a small frown.

“Well Andraste Crotch seems to have loosened up after his trip to Tantervale.” Isabela commented.

Anabel couldn't help smiling. “Are you staying over too, Merrill?” she asked the elf.

“Oh yes, if that’s all right. It’s been ages since we had a girls’ night.”

“Of course it’s all right. I didn’t realize we were having a girls’ night though.” She turned a questioning glance to Isabela.

“We are.” Said Isabela. “Merrill’s right. It’s been far too long. We’ve even stopped by the Keep and invited Captain Manhands. She’ll be here as soon as she finishes manhandling her guards. And then the fun will begin.”

Hawke gave her a suspicious look. “Just what sort of fun do you have planned for this wholesome girls’ night?” She asked.

Isabela gave her a triumphant smile. “I’m giving you all tattoos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pictures and pose reference are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	31. The Unexpected Effect of Temporary Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela makes good on her threat to give all the ladies tattoos. This results in surprising jealousy from Sebastian and an even more surprising response to that jealousy from Anabel.

Hawke took another drink from the brandy bottle and leaned back on her elbows, watching as Isabela painted an intricate floral design on the instep of her foot. “What did you say this stuff was called again?” 

They’d moved up to her bedroom after they finished the first bottle of wine and were currently lounging on pillows on the thick rug in front of the hearth. They weren’t drunk exactly, but they weren’t exactly sober either.

“Henna.” Said Isabela. She had Hawke’s foot in her lap. She paused in her painting, considering whether or not to continue it around the girl’s ankle. Not, she decided. With any luck and enough brandy she’d be able to paint another one on a less obvious part of her anatomy later in the evening.

“And you promise it just fades away? I’m not going to have a flowery vine thing on my foot for all eternity?” Anabel was sure that if she were a little more sober she wouldn’t have agreed to this supposed temporary tattooing. She didn’t even like brandy all that much, but Aveline was something of a brandy connoisseur, meaning that if you offered her good brandy she wouldn’t turn it down, the way she would ale or wine, so they’d raided the cellars and then retreated up to her bedroom bottles in hand.

Isabela added one more blossom just below the girl’s ankle. “I promise. It only lasts a week or two. Three at most.”

“And you’re certain all this isn’t just a ploy to get me out of my trousers?” Hawke lay back on the floor, shoving a pillow under her head and staring up at her ceiling. Isabela had insisted that this stuff stained horribly and the trousers needed to come off. After the wine and the brandy she’d been unable to think of a good argument against it. 

Isabela looked over at Hawke, lying there in just a silk shirt that wasn’t quite black, or blue or green, but somehow gave the illusion of being all three. It had a drawstring neck that had loosened and slipped off her shoulder. The color made her hair and skin almost glow in contrast. She was positively delicious. “Of course not. But we can talk more about your missing trousers once we’ve finished the brandy, if you like.” She promised with a wink. 

Aveline gave a disapproving snort from where she was sitting, leaning back against the bedpost. “I can’t believe you’re trusting her with this.” 

Hawke just laughed. “The temporary tattoo or the lack of trousers?” 

“Both.” 

Isabela gave her a friendly leer. “We got you out of your armor, big girl. Give me a couple of hours and you’ll be walking around without trousers as well.” She put down the brush she’d been using. “There. Don’t touch it for a few hours, until it’s completely dry. Then you just brush the dried henna off and the design will have soaked into your skin. A temporary tattoo. What do you think?”

Hawke had to admit it was beautiful. She wasn’t certain she’d want it forever but for a couple of weeks it was fun. Exotic even. “I’d no idea you could draw like this.” Hawke commented lifting her leg and pointing her foot. “I’ve only ever seen your naughty pictures.”

“Enjoyed those did you?” Said Isabela. 

Hawke just rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Where’d you learn to do this?

Isabel was rinsing off the brush she’d used, and she didn’t look up as she answered. “My mother had me practicing these practically from the time I hold a brush. I haven’t done them in ages though.” She abruptly changed the subject. “Who’s next?” She asked, looking around expectantly.

Aveline just shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you near me with that stuff.”

Isabela seemed unperturbed by the refusal. “Come on Merrill. Let me do you.” She beckoned to the elf, who seemed to have made herself a nest of pillows and was lying with just her head peering out.

“All right, but not on my foot. It’ll just get dirty. Do my hand instead.” She pushed the pillows aside and crawled over on her hands and knees, to where Isabela and Hawke were sitting. She pulled off her fingerless gloves and held out her arm. 

Isabela took her hand and turned it so it was facing palm up. She dipped the brush into the henna and began to paint something on Merrill’s wrist and palm. 

Hawke turned over onto her stomach, watching with interest. The designs she was painting on Merrill seemed different. More abstract. Almost geometric.

“You said practicing them – do they mean something, then?” She asked. “They aren’t just for decoration?”

“My mother was a Rivaini seer.” Isabela explained. “Or she pretended to be, anyway. She knew enough about the tribal practices that she could put on a good show. People would come to her and she’d mark them with protective symbols, or symbols to conceive, or to bring you love. It made them feel better and didn’t do any harm. Brought in fairly decent coin too.” She glanced over at Hawke who had just lifted the bottle to her mouth again. “So what happened to make Andraste-Crotch so frisky today?”

Anabel choked on the swig of brandy she’d just taken. She pushed herself to an upright position, coughing uncontrollably.

“What?” Asked Aveline, suddenly alert.

“You missed it, big girl. It was quite the show.” Isabela informed her, idly reaching out a hand and pounding Hawke’s back as she coughed. “Merrill and I walk into the library and there’s Andraste-Crotch and Kitten here, rolling around on the floor together.”

“Don’t call him that.” Hawke demanded when she could speak again. “And we weren’t rolling!” She looked over at Aveline who was giving her a one of her patented _I expected better of you_ frowns. “We weren’t rolling.” She insisted. 

“So what were you doing with the priest?” Aveline asked sternly, putting careful emphasis on the word 'priest'.

Anabel couldn’t meet her eye. “We were just having a talk, that’s all.” She said firmly.

“Sweet thing, you were lying on top of him and his hands were under your shirt.” Isabela pointed out. 

Anabel scowled. “We fell over.” She muttered. It sounded feeble even to her.

Isabela burst out laughing, and even Aveline couldn’t hide a smirk. 

Merrill tried to defend her. “I fall over all the time. Hawke’s just lucky that Sebastian was there to catch her. Did you slip? Is that what happened?”

“Yes, Kitten, what were you doing when you fell over?” Isabela asked innocently.

Hawke’s scowl deepened. “Kissing, all right? We were kissing. We lost our balance.” She waited for the unavoidable teasing and innuendo.

To her surprise, Isabela just turned Merrill’s hand over and began painting her palm.

She frowned at the pirate. “What, no lewd remarks?"

“It must have been quite some talk.” Isabela didn’t even look up. 

It was completely unlike Isabela to be so circumspect. Hawke tried to figure out what she might be up to, and couldn’t come up with anything. After a moment she spoke again.

“He’s thinking of taking back the throne, instead of being a priest.” 

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

“He’s finally breaking that vow of celibacy?” Isabela asked. She couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice.

Anabel blushed. “No.” She remembered their kiss. “I don’t know. Maybe.” But she had initiated that kiss. She frowned. “I don’t think so. He didn’t say actually.”

“But he’s definitely not being a priest?” Isabela persisted.

Anabel’s frown deepened. “No, he didn’t say that either.” Maker’s tits. Maybe she should have let him finish what he’d been trying to say.

Aveline was frowning now as well. “Not meaning to pry, but what exactly did he say?” Maker knew that she was hopeless with men, but at least she had some experience. To say Hawke was naïve about such things was an understatement at the very least. She certainly wasn’t going to let some entitled nobleman take advantage of that fact, no matter how respectable his reputation might seem.

Anabel thought carefully, wanting to make sure she got it right. “He said that after his visit with Lord Whatshisname in Tantervale he was leaning towards taking back the throne, and that his feelings for me were playing a part in his decision, but he couldn’t offer me anything right now, and that it wasn’t fair to ask me to wait.” She frowned. It did sound muddled, didn't it?

“Wait for what?” Isabela asked. “Sex?”

Anabel couldn’t help blushing. “I don’t think he was talking about sex.”

“Marriage?” Suggested Aveline, starting to be concerned. The man was a prince. Would he really be willing to overlook Hawke’s less than orthodox background and marry her? Or did he have a less respectable position in mind for her? 

Anabel seemed suddenly very interested in the hem of her shirt. “I don’t think so.” She said, taking another swig of the brandy. “He is still a priest. A lay brother, anyway. Don’t…” She warned, as Isabela opened her mouth, no doubt to make a dirty joke. “He didn’t say anything about marriage. Just that I should have everything I deserved, but that he couldn’t give it to me.” Couldn't give it to her, or couldn't give it to her yet? Had he said?

Merrill looked crestfallen. “But that sounds as if he doesn’t think you’ll be together. Why was he kissing you then?”

“Why indeed?” Said Aveline with a definite scowl now.

Isabela was frowning as well. “But you said he asked you to wait.” she said.

Anabel tried to remember. “He said it wasn’t fair to ask me to wait.”

“And then he kissed you?” Asked Isabela. 

“I kissed him actually.” Hawke admitted.

Isabela looked thrilled. “Kitten! I’m proud of you.”

“You’re proud of me?”

“Sebastian tells you he can’t be with you right now, you kiss him and the next thing you know you’re rolling around on the floor with his hands up your shirt. That’s how to handle a man.” 

“I wasn’t trying to handle him. It just sort of happened.” Maker, she was more confused now than before.

Aveline gave another snort. “It sounds like he might need some handling.” 

Anabel just shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the whole conversation. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know how to start handling him. I’m not sure I like the sound of it anyway.” She took a swallow of brandy. She wished now she had let him speak. She’d been afraid of what he’d tell her. This was what cowardice got you apparently. “Maybe I should just talk to him about it.” She suggested.

“You two have been just talking for almost a year. Time for some action, Kitten.” 

“Jumping into bed isn’t the answer for everyone. Some couples like to go at a slower pace.” Aveline pointed out.

Isabela just raised an eyebrow. “She could give him an etching of copper marigolds, I suppose.”

Hawke let out a laugh that she tried unsuccessfully to turn into a delicate cough. 

Aveline scowled. “Shut up, whore.”

 

“How are you so successful with men, anyway? You're not that pretty.” Aveline asked some time later, almost as if she’d been unable to stop herself. 

It was possible she couldn’t, thought Hawke. They’d ended up opening a second bottle of brandy, and Aveline had consumed enough of it that she had agreed to let Isabela paint one design, a small one, on her forearm, where she could see what the pirate was doing.

“Cast a wide enough net, and you're bound to catch something.” Answered Isabela, apparently unbothered by the question.

Even Aveline laughed. “At least you're willing to admit it."

Isabela added another flourish to the design. “Trust me. I've heard, "Get away from me, you pirate hag!" more times than I care to count.” 

“Doesn't that bother you?” Aveline sounded almost envious.

Isabela just shrugged. “Why should it? They don't know me. I know me.”

“Is Sebastian a good kisser?” Merrill abruptly asked Hawke.

Hawke blushed. “Oh, yes.”

Merrill seemed surprised. “Really? I thought he would be a bit boring. He’s always so calm and in control.”

Anabel couldn’t help the smug smile that came to her face. “Not all the time.”

“Someone’s been holding out on us.” Said Isabela gave her a knowing look. “It was that night I taught you to belly dance, wasn’t it?”

Hawke cheeks turned bright pink. “I can’t remember.” She lied. “I was very drunk.” She didn’t say anything more. 

Isabela didn’t bother to hide her smile as she turned back to painting Aveline’s arm. “I know he’s impossibly handsome and all that but I can’t say I see the appeal. I mean why him?” 

Anabel thought about it. It would be too ridiculous to say her heart raced every time she saw him. That his smile, and the feel of his arms around her made her feel completely safe and protected. That she felt like a part of her was missing when he wasn't there. “He doesn’t make demands of me. He’s peaceful. He listens. He’s one of the few normal men I know.” All of those things were true as well, and she didn't sound like quite such a hopeless case when she said them. She couldn't keep from smiling as she thought about him.

“The most normal man you know is a sort of celibate priest-prince?” Isabela shook her head. “Oh sweet thing, you need to get out more.” Though judging from the lovesick expression on the girl’s face, that wasn’t likely to happen.

Merrill had been watching Aveline for a while now and she suddenly giggled.

Aveline looked puzzled. “Yes, Merrill?”

“Is it like you thought? It's nice, isn't it? He seems nice.” Merrill asked eagerly.

“Yes, Merrill, he's very nice.” Anabel noticed that in spite of the impatient tone in her voice, Aveline was smiling as well.

Merrill seemed thrilled with the answer. “I know! And you're so cute when you're with him! Not like normal you at all!”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Haven't you got something unholy to do? She asked.

“No, we're keeping an eye on Hawke now. That's important, too.”

Anabel looked up in surprise. Was that why everyone was over here? Did they think she was going to go to pieces again?

Isabela saw the look and quickly changed the subject. “So, how good is Donnic, anyway? Is he cocksure?” 

Aveline sighed. She’d expected this for a while. “Go on. Just... get it out of your system."

“Did he curl your toes?” Isabela asked with a leer.

“’Curl your toes?” Anabel repeated, scoffing. “Aveline tells you to get it out of your system, effectively giving you a free pass to comment on her sex life, and that’s what you come up with?” 

Isabela looked peeved and then perked up. “Did he explore your Deep Roads?”

“I didn’t know Donnic had been in the Deep Roads!” said Merrill in surprise. “But how are they Aveline's Deep Roads? Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed. “It’s dirty, isn’t it? You’re talking about Aveline’s…”

Aveline cut her off. “Yes we know what she means, Merrill.” 

“Did he praise your Maker?” Isabela asked archly.

“Praise your Maker? What does that even mean?” Hawke demanded.

“Ask Sebastian.” Smirked Isabela. “Ooh, I know: Did he satisfy a demand of your Qun?” She asked carefully.

“Ugh." Commented Hawke, taking another drink. "That brought all sorts of images to my mind that I won’t ever be rid of.”

Aveline was a dull brick red color now and had apparently had enough. “Yes, all right.” She said in a rush. “Donnic is an incredibly proficient lover. Happy?” 

Isabela looked offended. “Well that's rather personal, don't you think?” and ducked as Aveline tried to hit her with a pillow.

 

The second brandy bottle was half empty when Aveline announced from the floor in front of the hearth, “You’re right.” She was looking at the flowers Isabela had painted on her arm. They looked nice. She could even ignore the fact that they were obviously stylized marigolds.

“About?” asked Isabela from Hawke’s bed. Hawke was lying face down, in just her smalls. Isabela had convinced her to let her ‘tattoo’ her back. What was more she’d managed to make her think it was her idea. 

Aveline tried unsuccessfully to muffle a belch. “About knowing who you are. I'm the Captain of the Guard. I'm loyal, strong, and I don't look too bad naked.” She sounded like she was a sergeant reciting the regulations to the troops. 

“Exactly.” Agreed Isabela. “And if I called you a mannish, awkward, ball-crushing do-gooder, you'd say...?"

“Shut up, whore.” She lifted her glass in salute to the pirate.

Isabela just smiled. “That's my girl.” She returned to the design she was painting low down on Hawke’s back. The third one she’d added. The first for easing sorrow. The second to gain your heart’s desire. The third for safety. The girl didn’t have any sense when it came to her safety. Walked right up to danger and tweaked it on the nose. She eyed her own handiwork. It looked marvelous against that smooth white skin. It was a shame no one was going to see it. She could just imagine Sebastian’s face if he could see Hawke sprawled out half naked on her bed sheets, designs covering the whole of her spine right down to those delicious dents just above her perfect derriere. 

She’d pay good coin to be able to see that expression.

Merrill was dipping her fingertips into the bowl of henna, coating her fingertips. “You've had many lovers, haven't you, Isabela?” She asked wistfully. 

“Fewer than some think.” Isabela said with a pointed look at Aveline.

“But you never stay with them.” Merrill sounded sad. 

“No, why should I?”

“But the act of lovemaking is so... intimate.” 

Isabela leaned over and pressed a kiss on Merrill’s forehead. “But I don't ‘make love’. What I do is only skin-deep, Kitten.”

Merrill sighed. “But still, your lives are all so exciting. Why do you even like me? I must seem so dull.” 

Hawke turned her head so she could look at her. She and Isabela exchanged a look.

“What brought this on?” Asked Isabela.

“Your life has been so exciting. The adventures, the duels, the passionate love affairs. And now Aveline has Donnic, and Hawke’s even gotten Sebastian to kiss her. Compared to all that, my life is a stale, dry biscuit. I wish I had your life.” She said to Isabela. “I don’t think I’d like Aveline’s very much. There’s too much shouting, and the armor's too heavy. And Hawke’s life has been so sad lately.”

“Merrill!” Warned Aveline with a concerned look at Hawke.

“It’s okay Aveline.” Said Anabel. “She’s right. It has been sad.” She looked over her shoulder at Isabela. “I don’t suppose your mother taught you any symbols that can help with that?”

“I’m sure she made some up at some point, but I certainly can’t remember them.” Isabela lied. She added smaller symbols for joy and laughter around the first symbol. It couldn’t hurt, right? She glanced up at the girl’s face. She’d laid her head back on the bed and was watching the fire. She was thinking about what had happened to her mother again, Isabela could tell.

"Hawke?” she said quietly.

“Yes?" Anabel murmured absently. _I'll get to see your father and Bethany again._

“I feel like I should say... something. About your mother." 

Hawke looked back at her. Isabela sounded uncertain. That in itself was unusual. “It’s all right. I know you're not good at emotional stuff." 

"She didn’t leave you willingly. At least you learned she did love you before…. Not everyone can say that."

Hawke just sighed. "People keep telling me that. We’d grown so far apart. I don’t even know if I would have still called her family a few weeks ago. Then I get her back and as soon as I do, she’s gone again. No more family in the family manse. Just me drifting around alone."

"You don't really think that, do you?" Said Isabela. "Family's not just the people you're related to by blood. There are other people who care about you, you know." She finished the final design, and looked at Hawke again. Andraste’s knickers. The girl looked all gooey, and she actually had tears in her eyes. “People like Aveline.” She hastened to make clear.

Anabel couldn’t help laughing. “But not you.”

“Certainly not. I don’t do feelings.”

“Of course not.” Hawke gave a look that let her know she didn’t believe a word she was saying, before settling her head back on her arms still smiling.

 

 

Sebastian walked down the stairs of the Keep early the next morning. He’d met only with Bran, but that hadn’t surprised him. Marlowe was still mourning Saemus, and truth be told he preferred meetings with the Seneschal. There was far less socializing and far more discussion of the situation in Starkhaven, After his meeting with Lord Maclaren there was quite a bit to discuss, but even so he'd found time to bring up Anabel. He’d asked the Seneschal if the Viscount intended to pursue making her his heir. 

“I believe so.” Said Bran. He seemed less than thrilled by the idea. 

“You don’t approve?” Sebastian had asked.

Bran had given him an appraising look as if trying to decide if he could be honest with Sebastian. “She’s very young, and quite rough. She seems to lack the gravitas that the position calls for, and she’s rather more unconventional than I would like.” 

Sebastian had frowned. “Is that all you see in her?” 

“She’s charming and there's no mistaking her intelligence. She’s got a good mind, and a good grasp of politics, when she isn’t giving into her tendency to thumb her nose at all protocol and tradition. The city could do worse. But I would prefer it if the Viscount chose someone else.”

“I think you underestimate her.” Sebastian had said.

Bran had sighed. “Her reaction in the Chantry the day of the funeral….” He shook his head. “Perhaps in a few years when she’s matured. She’s what, twenty-three?” He asked looking at Sebastian for confirmation.

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps if she were a few years older I wouldn’t be as concerned.”

“You speak as if she would become Viscount tomorrow.” Sebastian protested. “The Viscount is barely fifty years old. He could easily rule for another decade.”

Bran had hesitated for a moment before he'd said, “I’m not sure he wishes to.”

Sebastian stared at the Seneschal, trying to figure out if he were saying the Viscount wished to resign his position or something worse. “Has Saemus’ death hit him so hard?”

“Yes.” Bran said simply. “I know of your attachment to Serrah Hawke. Perhaps you could talk to her. See if this is even something she wants. See if she would be willing to educate herself, to apply herself so she might become the sort of ruler Kirkwall needs. If we don't find someone, there are others more than willing to take charge should the need arise.”

Sebastian had stared at him, wondering whom he might mean. “Others?" He'd asked.

Bran hadn’t answered him, and they’d been interrupted by the arrival of his next appointment.

A cold wind blew, bringing him back to the present, and he pulled his cloak closer around him. He had to be back at the Chantry for the midday service, and as he was only going to the Keep he hadn’t bothered with his armor, dressing instead as the nobleman that he was – a fine doublet, trousers and boots with a thick woolen cloak around his shoulders. He’d stop by Anabel’s, see how her girls' night had gone, and if she seemed up to it, talk with her about the Viscount’s intentions. He didn’t share Bran’s concerns, but Bran did tend to bring out the worst in her. Perhaps he could persuade her to show him another side, that side he knew was more than capable of taking charge of Kirkwall.

As he neared the bottom of the steps, he saw a figure with a familiar shock of white hair walking up to the door of the Amell mansion. 

“Fenris.” He called out with a smile.

Fenris stiffened at the sound of his name, and then relaxed when he saw the Prince.“Sebastian. Are you joining us for breakfast as well?”

“I was merely going to see Anabel. I hadn’t realized she was having company.”

“I believe it was Isabela who issued the invitation. We have been trying not to leave her alone for too long as you suggested. Isabela intended to spend the night last night.”

“Yes, she decreed it a girls’ night. Aveline and Merrill were staying as well.”

“Well if Aveline joined them, then perhaps the mischief was kept to a minimum.” Was Fenris’ only comment. 

Bodahn let them in, informing them that the others were already upstairs. 

He felt less less awkward going up to her bedroom with Fenris. The door was open, and Sebastian froze at what he saw when they walked into the room.

Aveline and Varric were by the desk, conversing over cups of coffee. Isabela still lounged in the bed, propped up against the many pillows there, with Merrill sitting cross legged beside her. Anders was sitting at the foot of the bed with Anabel next him. And Anabel…

She wore only the dark blue shirt she’d had on yesterday. One slender white leg was stretched out in front of her. Anders held her foot in his hand, trailing his fingers over what appeared to be a floral tattoo on the inside of her foot. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Anabel was saying. “It’s called henna. Isabela’s promised it will fade in a couple of weeks.” 

“It suits you.” Said the mage, smiling adoringly at her. Was she blind not to realize how the man felt about her?

“You should see the other one.” Said Merrill excitedly. She seemed to have tattoos as well, but hers were on her hands.

Anders eyebrows raised. “Well go on.” He prompted. “Let’s see other one.”

Anabel immediately scrambled to her knees, so her back was to the mage, and pulled the drawstring of her shirt loose, shrugging it off her shoulders. Holding the front of the garment securely in place, she let the rest fall so the whole of her back was laid bare.

Just like that. All the man had to do was ask and she bared herself to him. Sebastian barely noticed the exotic designs drawn there.

It was when the mage moved her hair out of the way and ran his fingers over the designs, down the full length of her spine that something exploded in him.

Sebastian never been jealous before Anabel, not where women were concerned. He’d been possessive, yes, but never jealous. That someone took what he had staked a claim to would anger him, certainly. But the theft of a lover, for lack of a better word, was judged no differently than the theft of his horse or his dog or his favorite dagger would have been. And he’d shared or loaned many a lover with nary a thought.

He saw Anders touch Anabel and he wanted to obliterate the mage. 

Oh, the possessiveness was there. He wanted to scream, mine. She is mine and you will not touch her again.

“Sebastian.” Fenris cautioned, seeing the expression on his friend’s face.

Sebastian looked at him but barely saw him. He turned back to Anabel. She was pulling up her shirt and laughing with Anders. He stalked across the room.

Anabel’s face lit up when she saw him. As if nothing was wrong. “Sebastian! I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“Obviously.” He managed to say.

Her perfectly arched brows came together in a confused frown.

“Where are your trousers?” He kept his eyes fixed on her. He didn’t dare look at Anders for fear he’d tear the man apart.

“I’m not sure.” She said, completely perplexed by this new and different Sebastian. 

“They’re on the chair by the fire, Kitten.” Said Isabela, watching Sebastian with interest. All conversation in the room had ceased. Anders had slowly gotten to his feet, and Aveline and Varric took a step closer to the bed. 

Sebastian saw the dark leggings she’d had on the day before tossed over the arm of the chair. He stalked over and grabbed them, and turned holding them out to her. “Go and put them on.” He ordered indicating the door to the bathing chamber.

Her chin lifted defiantly. “Excuse me?” She asked, sliding off the edge of the bed and moving to stand in front of him, placing her hands on her hips. 

He stared down at her. She was looking at him as if he had done something wrong. Not that she looked in the slightest bit threatening, standing there half clothed, not even coming to his shoulder. "Put them on." He repeated. 

“This happens to be my bedroom, in my house.” She said with a glare. “If I want to walk around stark naked, I will.” She didn’t know what had gotten into Sebastian, but she didn’t let anyone order her around. 

He didn’t bother to answer, just took her by the elbow and half dragged, half carried her into the bathing chamber, shutting the door firmly behind them. He heard Anders making some protest, and Varric and Aveline saying something in response, but his attention was focused solely on Anabel.

She grabbed her leggings out of his hands. She couldn’t believe he’d done that -- bundled her off to the other room like she was a child who’d misbehaved. “Would you like to explain what this is all about?” She demanded.

The look on his face made it plain that no, he really wouldn’t. “You shouldn’t be parading yourself around half dressed." 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Parading? I’m in my own bedroom. It’s not as if I run out to the Hightown Market like this.”

“With all the people in your bedroom it might as well be the market. Though there might well be fewer people there.” He sneered.

One brow raised. “Since you seemed fine with the girls being here last night, I’m assuming it's the men you're taking issue with?”

“Yes.” He said finally. Let her think it was all the men, not just the mage.

She shook her head at him, as if he were misguided. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve slept in Varric’s bed for Andraste’s sake. And I’ve been far less clothed when Anders has healed me, which is usually in front of everyone else.”

“Well, he’s not healing you now, is he? Just touching you. Just running his hands over your skin.” 

She stared at him, utterly perplexed. And then, suddenly, she realized what it was and she couldn't keep the smile from spreading across her face. “You’re jealous!” She accused, but she sounded delighted.

He opened his mouth to deny it and couldn’t. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Yes.” He said grimly, not moving from where he stood. “I’m jealous. I see him touching you, I see him casually pulling off your clothes and laying his hands on your bare skin, I see him watching you, and I want to cause him physical harm. I want to yank you away from him. I want to take you and mark you, and make it clear to anyone who dares to even look at you that you are not available. That you belong to someone else.” He couldn’t believe he was saying these things out loud.

 _Time for some action._ The words seem to echo in her head. She walked slowly towards him, still smiling, but her lips were parted and she seemed to be breathing a little faster. “Who?” She demanded, a challenge in her green blue eyes. 

He didn’t understand. “What?”

“Who do I belong to?” She asked, moving closer.

“You know what I mean.” Part of him silently begged her not to pursue this, and part of him wanted to shout it out loud.

She stopped directly in front of him, tilting her head back to look up at him. “I want to hear you say it.” 

For a moment he stared at her without speaking, and then the words seemed to tear out of him. “Me. You belong to me.” 

He’d claimed her and the words couldn’t be unsaid. All those good intentions from yesterday. All those honorable intentions, tossed aside with those four words. A dozen years in almost perfect control of this part of his life and he’d been utterly undone by one small slip of a girl. He looked away from her trying to figure out where he went from here.

She saw his reluctance, his regret that he’d said it, and for the first time, instead of feeling guilty she was angered by it. Was it such an awful thing that he wanted her? Would it be so terrible if he admitted it? She felt her own temper begin to flare. “All right. I’ll put on my trousers.”

He almost sagged with relief. Perhaps they could just forget he’d said anything. The foolish hope was dashed with her next words.

“On one condition."

He lifted his head to look at her. She had a smile on her face that he'd never seen directed at him. The same smile she had when she was about to spring a trap. "One condition?" He repeated stupidly.

"Yes. If I belong to you, if that truly is the case, then kiss me.” She made it sound like the simplest of things.

He just stared at her.

He looked astonished or appalled, she couldn’t quite tell which, but she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

“Kiss you?” He echoed.

“Kiss me.” She said again. “Kiss me, and I’ll put some pants on and we’ll all go downstairs and have breakfast. Give me a real kiss. I’m not certain you ever have.” Her tone was almost conversational.

His eyes flicked to her lips and then quickly away again. “I’ve kissed you before. More than I should have, Maker knows.” How had she switched it around so quickly? He’d been in control of the situation, and suddenly he was on the defensive.

“A real kiss, I said.” Her voice sounded eminently reasonable. “Whenever you’ve kissed me before it’s been because you lost control, or you were trying to teach me a lesson, or you were comforting me, or saying a chaste hello or goodbye. I want you to kiss me.” She was standing so close now that he could feel the warmth of her body next to him.

“I did that yesterday in the library.” He said trying to keep his voice steady.

She gave a slight shake of her head. “No. I kissed you yesterday. If I belong to you, kiss me like I belong to you.” 

Her challenge couldn’t have been more clear if she’d thrown down a gauntlet at his feet. She looked up at him, all pale skin and full lips and almost liquid eyes.

He felt his heart begin to pound. Her shirt had slipped off one shoulder and he caught a glimpse of Isabela’s tattoo against that pale perfect skin.

She moved closer to him, almost pressed against him now. ”Kiss me.” She repeated in that caramel rich voice. The expression in her eyes told him she thought she'd won. She knew he wanted to kiss her. She thought she was in control of the situation.

A wave a pure lust hit him. “On one condition.” He said repeating her words back to her.

“You have a condition, do you?” She said with a taunting smile.

To her surprise he smiled back, a smile she’d never seen on his face before. It held a hint of darker things. 

“Yes.” He bent down so his mouth was scarce inches away from her ear. “Show me the tattoo first.” He whispered. His breath was hot against her skin.

She pulled back in surprise, and her eyes went round as saucers.

He couldn’t keep the triumphant smirk from his face.

She saw it and her eyes narrowed. She lifted her head and took a step back from him. “All right.” She dropped the trousers carelessly on the floor, and took another step back, and then turned so she faced away from him. He saw her hands go to the shirt’s drawstring. 

Dear Maker she was going to call his bluff.

If it even was a bluff.

She untied the drawstring and pulled it loose, and then looked at him over her shoulder, a look of such innocent allure that just from that he felt himself begin to grow hard. She turned to face forward, and instead of merely letting the back of the shirt drop, as she had before, she grasped the hem and pulled it over her head. Only the fact that she clutched it to her chest, instead of tossing it aside or letting it fall to the floor let him know that she wasn't nearly as confident about her actions as she pretended to be.

That perhaps he wasn’t the only one surprised by what both of them were doing. 

But that thought faded to the back of his mind when he saw the tattoos.

He took a step closer and lifting a hand brushed her hair so it fell over her shoulder, leaving his view unobstructed. 

The dark reddish brown of the henna stood out starkly against the white of her skin. He took a moment to admire the artistry of Isabela’s work. 

It was beautiful. Exotic. Barbaric almost.

Juvenile fantasies of harems and slave girls purchased purely to slake his desire flashed through his mind. The tattoos followed the line of her back from the base her neck to just between those perfect indentations just above her behind. Unable to resist, he trailed his hand down her spine and felt her shiver. He let his fingers linger just at the edge of her smalls, before he pulled his hand back, somehow managing to suppress the desire to press his lips along that same path. 

“Very nice.” He managed to get out, and he was surprised at how normal his voice sounded. Anabel didn’t move. “Put your shirt back on.” He told her

Wordlessly she did as he said. She didn’t turn to face him, but stood there, fumbling with the drawstring. He saw her hands were trembling. 

“Anabel.” He said softly. He moved so he stood in front of her.

“I’ll get dressed now.” She said, unable to look at him. What in the Void was wrong with her? Why didn’t she strip naked, lie back and just throw her legs open? She’d thought he would stop her. She couldn’t believe she’d done that. She couldn’t believe he’d done that. 

She’d been absolutely wanton. Brazen. And she couldn’t believe how exciting it had been, laying herself bare like that, knowing he was looking at her. When he’d touched her, just run his fingers down her spine, it had been the most sensuous thing she had ever felt. For one wild moment she’d been tempted to drop her shirt on the ground and turn to face him, to throw herself at him, to beg him to take her, even knowing all her friends were in the next room, even knowing that he would turn her down. Even now, as embarrassed as she was, she was overwhelmingly conscious of that throbbing heat between her legs.

What was that expression about playing with the big dogs? She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, trying to play that game with Sebastian of all people. Sebastian, who more than a decade after he’d taken a vow of celibacy, still had a reputation for sexual prowess. 

“I owe you a kiss.” He said softly.

“It’s all right.” She said still not looking at him. She turned away to pick up her trousers but he put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“I want to kiss you.” He said in that same even tone.

She dared to look up. The heat of his gaze made it suddenly difficult to breathe.

When he spoke again his voice was low pitched and barely louder than a whisper. “I want to kiss you.” He repeated. He stepped closer to her and put his hands around her waist, pulling her gently to him. “I want to kiss you the way you should be kissed. I want to kiss you like you belong to me.” He bent forward, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Let me kiss you, Ana.” He whispered. 

She made a small sound and then his mouth was on hers. Firm but not hard. Exploring but not demanding. Her arms slid up to the side of his neck just as his hands tightened on her waist and he lifted her up. Without even thinking about it her legs wrapped around him so tightly that he almost lost his balance, staggering forward towards the door, only remembering at the last minute to put one hand out so that he would take the brunt of the impact, rather than she. There was a loud thump when he did, and an almost immediate muffled squeal from the other side, which they both ignored as they continued the kiss, tasting each other, exploring with tongues, and teeth, and lips, their movements growing more frantic as the kiss continued.

He finally forced himself to pull away. “Mine.” He said hoarsely. 

He had no right. It wasn’t fair to her to make the claim, but not be able to make the commitment. He didn’t care. 

He buried his face in her neck. “Mine.” He repeated inhaling the scent of her.

Her arms tightened around him. “Yours.” He heard her whisper. She gave his hair a gentle tug so he had to look at her. Her face was suddenly serious. “It works both ways you know. If I’m yours then you’re mine.” She looked at him expectantly. 

He could lose himself in those eyes, and looking into them, it was impossible to deny it. “Yes.” He agreed. “I’m yours.” He let the hand that was supporting her caress the perfect swell of her behind, and he felt her shiver. They were both still breathing fast. 

It would be so easy. So easy just to give in. To ignore the fact that her friends were just on the other side of the door. To ignore the fact that rumors would inevitably spread, that now that she was living here alone, now that Viscount Dumar had singled her out, her behavior would come under even more scrutiny than before. He gently but firmly set her down on the ground but couldn’t make himself let go of her. 

“I must be mad.” Sebastian said, more to himself than to her. He looked down at her. She looked so pleased with herself that he couldn’t help smiling at her. “How is it that I lose all sense where you are involved?” 

“I have that effect, I’ve been told.” She couldn’t stop smiling. She still didn’t know what it was between them but they both had said it. _I am yours and you are mine._

That was so much more than enough for her.

She reached for her trousers and pulled them on. “So did you like the tattoos?” She said with a teasing smile.

“Incorrigible.” Sebastian replied, with a shake of his head. “Obviously I did.” 

“I may get a real one.” She threatened.

“No. I wouldn’t allow it.” Nothing would mar that perfect skin if he had anything to say about it.

She raised her eyebrow. “Tell a man that you’re his and suddenly he becomes all kinds of bossy. Carver’s got one you know. A mabari. He got it at Ostagar. He can make it bark. I told him he was an idiot for doing it. I never really had any desire to get one before this, but Isabela’s designs are so pretty.” She held out her foot to look at the floral vine that was there. “Oh well. I suppose they aren’t for everyone. It’s not as if you would ever get one.”

“No?” He said with a secretive smile.

She frowned at him. “Princes don’t get tattoos. There are rules about that, aren’t there?”

“Ah but remember, I was the wicked prince.”

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No. You do not have a tattoo.”

He just smiled serenely.

“Sweet Andraste. You do don’t you?” Images were suddenly flashing through he mind. What sort of tattoo would he have? And where? 

He smiled, knowing what she was thinking. “Come.” He said, holding at a hand to her. “I’m suddenly ravenous for one of Orana’s pastries.”

She slid her hand into his and he opened the door. Isabela fell into the room, landing on all fours at their feet.

“Hi Izzy.” Said Hawke, walking blithely past her. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pictures and pose reference are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	32. Sometimes People Just Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hawke argues with Anders, and is betrayed by Isabela, Sebastian is there to comfort her.

Anders crouched by the doorway of the clinic carefully setting down the saucer of milk.

“What are you doing?” 

He stilled at the sound of Hawke’s voice. He didn’t know how one voice could combine so much. Completely feminine, but rich and low pitched. Seductive and sweet both at the same time. He turned to watch her as she walked up to him. She was wearing that coat of her father’s that was just a little too big, and she had her hair in a loose bun at the back of her head. She looked for all the world like a child dressing up in her parent’s clothing, trying to look older than she was.

She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful. 

He couldn’t help but smile at her as he straightened up. “Putting out milk. I miss having a cat around.” He hadn’t seen her in over a week. Almost two. He’d been avoiding her if he were perfectly honest.

Well, if he were perfectly honest he’d been avoiding Sebastian Vael, but as the prince seemed to have attached himself to Hawke’s side it was impossible to do one without the other.

She gave him an easy smile and his eyes lingered on her dimple. “I’ve never understood why you haven’t gotten one before this.” She commented. 

She was looking better, less haunted than she had been right after Leandra had been killed. He supposed that was the prat’s doing. He suddenly realized that Hawke was looking at him expectantly. Shit. What had she said? A cat. Right. “The refugees scare them away. Or possibly eat them. I didn’t like the idea of losing it if I got one I suppose.” He straightened up and brushed his hands on his trousers, and standing to the side, let her walk in ahead of him.

Hawke was looking around the clinic. The Undercity never seemed to change. Even with the Blight over, even with the various diseases that periodically swept through it, the numbers of people living in squalor seemed to remain at a strange constant. The cots were about half filled today. “It doesn’t get any better down here, does it?” She asked.

“No.” Anders said simply. He retreated into the back of the clinic, into the storage room and she followed him. 

She looked at the clinic shelves. They seemed much emptier than they should have been. The clinic was always busier in winter. She gave him an apologetic look. “You need supplies now that it’s getting colder. I should have realized.” In spite of the braziers he had burning, it was almost as cold in here as outside. She frowned. He’d need blankets, and more fuel. Food, of course, and probably a dozen more things that wouldn’t occur to her. “Make a list for me.”

He hated taking advantage of her generosity, but this winter was promising to be a brutal one. He would need all the aid he could get. “I will. Thank you, Hawke. I wonder if you realize how many people down here owe their lives to you.” 

His words sounded strangely stiff and formal and she shook her head in disagreement. “No. They owe it to you. I’ve been neglecting the clinic. And you. I’m sorry. I’ve been wallowing in my own troubles, I’m afraid, but I’m done with that now.” She said resolutely.

“You’ve had good reason to wallow. Better than most. So what brings you down here now?” He said abruptly.

She blinked at him. Anders voice was cool, distant almost. As if she was a visitor. As if she hadn't just been popping down here for years. Yes, it had been less frequently lately, but he couldn’t fault her for that, could he? So much had been going on. There was nothing in his words that should make her feel he was unhappy with her and yet she felt as if she’d done something wrong. Something she should be apologizing for. ”I couldn’t just be visiting you?” She asked him. 

“That would be nice, but you aren’t are you?” He turned around leaning back on the desk and folding his arms over his chest.

“No, I’m an awful friend.” She said, with an uncomfortable laugh. “Izzy claims she’s found her relic. Some fellow with the wholesome name of ‘Wall-eyed Sam’ is selling it to a group of Tevinter mages tonight down in Lowtown. We’re going to take it back. It’s a book of some sort by the way. The relic I mean. Isabela suddenly remembered that.”

He frowned wondering what the pirate was up to. He liked her well enough, but he’d never quite trusted her entirely. “Any ideas as to why she would have kept that bit of information to herself?”

Hawke gave a sigh. “None at all, and it’s frustrating me to no end. Do you ever have the feeling that there’s something that you’re missing? Something obvious that you should be seeing but you’re not? I hate that feeling.” 

“You’ve got it now?” Over the years he'd learned to trust Hawke's feelings.

“Oh yes. And I’m fairly certain Isabela holds the key to it. After we retrieve this book I’m going to sit her down and have a long overdue talk with her.” After she went with Aveline to talk with the Arishok about those fugitive converts. She didn’t know how she’d let herself be roped into that one. She glanced back at Anders. He looked thoughtful.

“Who’s going?” He asked.

“Isabela of course. Fenris. Me.” 

A look crossed his face that she couldn’t quite read and he didn’t say anything. She gave him a puzzled smile. “So, will you come?” she asked.

After a moment he nodded. “Of course.” His expression didn’t change.

She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. We’re meeting up at the Hanged Man tonight. I’ll see you there.” He didn’t respond and she frowned. Maker, he was in a strange mood. She turned to leave.

“Hawke.” He called out when she was almost at the door.

She turned back expectantly. 

His face was unchanged but for the fact that he was now watching her intently. “You didn’t invite Sebastian along on this little excursion?”

She shook her head. “No, not for this one.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “No, of course not.” He turned to the shelves, needlessly lining up his potions.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. 

He turned back and his face was no longer neutral. “It means that you never bring the Grand Cleric’s golden boy along for our less reputable jobs. The kind of jobs that involve people with names like ‘Wall-eyed Sam’. I was just curious if you realized it.” 

“That’s not true.” She said forcing herself to meet his eye. But even as she said it she realized it was. _Shit_.

Anders just shook his head. “For someone who makes a living as a rogue you really are the worst liar.” He said. “He will notice eventually that some of the things you do aren’t the sorts of things you would bring up as an amusing anecdote at a Hightown soiree.”

She didn’t say anything but her smile had vanished.

“I don’t know why you even try to keep him from it. I’d think after that little fit in your bedroom you’d realize he’s not quite the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is.”

Her cheeks turned pink and she looked down at the floor. For the thousandth time he wondered just what exactly had happened behind that closed bathing chamber door. “I have to ask; has Brother Sebastian changed his mind about the priesthood, then?” He had to fight to keep his voice neutral.

She didn’t look at him when she answered. “He’s thinking about taking back the throne.” Why did she feel guilty? He was the one who had insisted there couldn’t be anything between them, that they should just be friends. And he’d been right, so why was he being like this? “He wants to talk with more people. Try and decide if it’s the right thing to do.”

“And pray about it?” Anders asked, unable to keep the derision from his voice.

She looked at him then, with a hint of anger in her eyes. “Be nice.” She told him.

“I don’t feel particularly inclined to be nice to Sebastian. Tell me, does he ever do anything without thinking it over for months at a time and asking the Maker if it’s all right?” It was going to happen. That sanctimonious prig was going to leave the Chantry and marry Hawke. They’d sail off to Starkhaven and live happily ever after, blithely ignoring all the troubles between mage and Templar, leaving him to rot in his clinic. 

“He made a lot of mistakes when he was younger. He doesn’t want to do it again. I don’t think he should be faulted for being cautious.” 

“And where was that caution of his the other day when he hauled you off in a fit of temper?” Anders asked. He’d hated how Sebastian had treated her that day. Ordering her around. Physically dragging her off to the other room when she’d stood up to him and made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate that sort of treatment, and most of all he’d hated the fact that they both came out of Hawke’s bathing chamber in a positive haze of satisfaction, had hated that Hawke’ full red lips were even fuller and redder than usual from the prat’s kisses. “You might want to watch that, you know.” He warned her nastily.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He would never hurt me. He just didn’t like my going around half dressed in front of everyone.”

“He was just jealous? You mean?” He seemed to have anticipated her answer and be strangely pleased by it.

Her chin lifted. “Yes.” Just jealous of you, she almost added, but he didn’t give her the chance. 

“He was just jealous, he would never hurt me.” His smile was grimly satisfied and didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve no idea how frequently I hear those words from women who come into my clinic with black eyes and broken wrists.” He faltered on the last words and his eyes went to her wrist. 

She saw, and her hand went immediately to it, as if she could hide it from him. 

The wrist he had broken. Not Sebastian. Him. All the belligerence left him and he turned away from her leaning his hands on the desk. What right did he have to warn her against other men? 

She was immediately in front of him, reaching up and turning his face so he had to look at her. “Don’t.” She ordered.

He buried his face in her hair, pulling her close, and felt her arms go around his neck, and her hands gently stroking his hair. “It wasn’t you. You would never hurt me.” She murmured gently, and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek.

He straightened up and looked down at her and she gave him a soft smile. She truly believed it. After everything he’d done, she still trusted him. Still cared for him. He grabbed her suddenly, sliding his hands into her hair and kissing her hard.

She didn’t protest, didn’t struggle to free herself, but she didn’t respond in any way either. He pulled back and looked down at her and knew. He had lost her. Whatever had happened between her and the prince the other day had changed something. He’d lost his chance. Maybe he’d lost it a long time ago. 

He took a step back, still staring at her. Her eyes were filled with regret. Regret that she’d hurt him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He said.

“I don’t deserve him.” She said quietly.

Anders just stared at her. How could she think so little of herself? Of course that was probably what that Chantry tool was counting on. That was probably the way he meant to control her. “You’re really willing to wait around for whatever crumbs he might throw you?”

“It’s not like that.” She insisted. 

“He won’t marry you, you know.” Anders warned.

She flinched, and he saw the flash of pain in her eyes, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “You’re probably right. I’m not what he needs to take back the throne and if he stays a priest he won’t need a wife. Is that what you wanted to hear? Or were you just trying to be as hurtful as possible?” She was angry now, but her eyes were suddenly glassy with tears.

 _Shit_. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt her like that. He didn’t want to hurt her. They stared at each other. “I’m a bastard.” He finally said.

She swiped once at her eyes, looking at a point somewhere over his shoulder. “Yes. You are sometimes. You’re also one of the people I love most in the world and I’m not going to let you drive me away. So it would be nice if you’d stop trying to.” _He won’t marry you, you know_. “So are you going to come along tonight or are you just going to keep being a bastard?” She said turning back to him. She tried to keep her voice even, tried to put aside the hurt his words had caused, tried to pretend that he hadn’t said them, but she couldn’t, not entirely. She looked at him expectantly.

“I can’t do both?” He asked with a tentative smile, trying to joke, trying to figure out if he had finally gone too far. 

“Oh I don’t doubt for a minute that you could, but I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.” If she didn’t get out of there she was going to start crying and she refused to do that. “Are you going to help retrieve this damned relic or not? Yes or no.” Her voice came out angrier than she intended and she saw Anders close off.

“Why not? I don’t have a reputation to worry about.” 

She decided to ignore the jibe. “I’ll see you at the Hanged Man.” She walked out of the clinic without another word.

 

She was still angry with Anders when the group of them left the Hanged Man later that night and walked down the stairs towards the foundry. She was trying not to let it show. Isabela seemed unaware of the tension between them, but Fenris had noticed it and was sending glares at the mage. Boy noticed as well, and kept butting his head under her hand, and turning to look at Anders, giving him what she was sure were the dog equivalent of glares.

They rounded the corner and found their way blocked by a group of Qunari, six, no, seven that she could see, all armed to the teeth. Waiting for someone.

She saw the subtle change in their posture, in their expressions, their weapons moved to a ready position. 

Waiting for them, apparently. She reached for her weapons and saw the others do the same.

Boy’s hackles raised and he let out a low growl.

One of the stens that she’d seen at the compound stepped forward. “Hold. You will surrender the relic.” 

Hawke was about to speak, to tell them that they had the wrong people and then she realized he was looking at Isabela. 

Isabela’s relic. The relic. 

_Something was stolen from us_. The Qunari dreadnought. The storm. Isabela’s shipwreck.

Sweet Andraste, how could she have been so stupid. How could she not have made the connection? 

“I don’t have your stupid relic.” Isabela was saying petulantly.

She was going to strangle the pirate, that was if the Qunari didn’t kill them all first.

The sten’s eyes flickered over her contemptuously and dismissed her. “The _bas_ has no honor.” He told his men. “Kill it.”

She’d have brought a different group if she’d realized they be fighting the Qunari. More muscle. Less speed. She thought as she charged at the group, hoping the action would at least startle them. It did, but they recovered quickly. A massive sword came swinging at her head and she bent back so sharply that she had to reach out a hand behind her to catch herself.

“Right!” She heard Fenris shout, and she automatically rolled right, as the Qunari’s head, followed closely by the rest of him fell where she had been seconds before. She saw Boy tackle another of the warriors, and she thanked whatever impulse had made her decide to bring him along at the last minute. Isabela threw one of her flasks, obscuring her vision momentarily. She saw a fireball go whizzing by and then another soldier charged her. She ran towards him flipping over him, landing behind him and sinking her daggers into his back. She realized someone was coming up behind her and quickly yanked them out stabbing behind her, hearing the man fall before she turned to confirm it. 

She looked around frantically. Everyone seemed uninjured. The Qunari lay dead around them. Thank Andraste. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again and looking over at Isabela. “Don’t worry. If the Arishok asks what happened to his men we’ll just tell him it was an accident.” She said sarcastically. Maker she wanted to strangle the woman.

Isabela at least had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “Ah. Yes. About that. The relic belongs to the Qunari and there’s a small chance they want it back.” 

Anabel just stared at her. Really? She thought a post-discovery confession was going to excuse everything. “Are you crazy? Do the Qunari seem like the sharing type to you? Of course they want it back!” She shouted.

“All right!” said Isabela with a scowl. “I’ve always known what the book is. I just didn’t want to worry you.”

Anabel just raised an eyebrow at her, and Isabela hurried to continue. “It’s some sort of religious thing. Written by that philosopher of theirs. Cousland…Keslin.”

“Koslun?” Asked Fenris warily

Isabela gave them a bright smile. “That’s the one.” She said cheerily.

“The founder of their religion?” Fenris continued. “Their most revered philosopher? That text would be revered beyond measure.”

The Tome of Koslun. _Shit_. She tried to remember everything she knew about it. Not good. This was so not good.

“I stole it from them, they followed me, and now they can’t leave the Free Marches without it.” 

“You couldn’t have stolen the relic from the Qunari. They haven’t had it for hundreds of years.” Hawke said, having had just about enough of Isabela’s lies. How many lives could have been saved if she had figured this out sooner? If Isabela had just said something. 

“No. The Qunari didn’t have it. The Orlesians did. They were returning it to them. I just stole it from them before they met with them. Stealing from Orlesians is easy. Getting away from the Qunari was the hard part.” 

"And the shipwreck?” Asked Hawke, still unable to look at her. 

“The storm was only part of it. I had the Qunari dreadnought stuck on my behind like a bad rash.”

“Why would Tevinter want this relic?” She asked.

“They’ve been at war with the Qunari for centuries. They probably just want to thumb their noses at them.”

Anabel only half heard the words. “If we gave this back to the Qunari it might solve Aveline’s problem.” Kirkwall’s problem. Hawke realized. Could it be that simple? Would the Qunari just go if they had the relic? Oh Sweet Andraste, please let it be that simple for once.

Isabela looked shocked and quickly appalled. “That’s just a mess over a couple of elves. I need the relic to save my own skin!"

Even now the woman didn’t see it. Or maybe she was the one who had been blind. Maybe everything Isabela did was to save her own skin. Maybe all her claims over the years were true. Maybe she really was that shallow and selfish. Even now, part of her wanted to deny it was true, but she was too furious. “You could have turned the relic over to the Qunari! Do you realize all that might have been prevented if you had?”

“The bloody thing didn’t even turn up for three years! Castillon will feed me to the sharks if I don’t give it to him. You have to let me have it!”

“Oh, no. You’ll turn that relic over to the Qunari. It belongs to them. We’ll deal with Castillon after.” Hawke said sternly before Isabela could protest. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.” 

“Fine.” Shouted Isabela. “We’ll do it your way. I’ll turn it over to the Qunari.” But Hawke noticed she wasn’t looking her in the eye.

“Isabela.” She said reaching out a hand, but Isabela shrugged away from the touch.

“Come on. It’s inside.” Without waiting to see if they were following her, the pirate turned and walked inside. 

After exchanging resigned looks they followed her.

 

It felt like a lifetime had passed before they stumbled back out of the foundry looking much the worse for wear, only to find more corpses than they’d left there, including that of Wall-eyed Sam. 

Oh, the Tevinter mages had been in the foundry, along with even more Qunari. Wall-eyed Sam had fled as soon as they’d appeared, with Isabela close on his heels, leaving Hawke, Fenris, Anders and Boy to combat the Tevinter mages, their soldiers and the Qunari. 

Anabel looked frantically around for Isabela, but she was nowhere to be seen. “The Qunari must have gotten her.” She said. “Would they take her back to the compound?” They couldn’t get her out of the compound on their own. Would the Arishok even speak to her after this mess? She couldn’t not try. “Come on.” She said.

“Hawke.” She turned and Fenris gestured at the corpse of Wall Eyes Sam. There was a torn piece of paper shoved into the man’s shirt. She reached down and pulled it out, marking the elaborate script on it. She had only to look at the grim line of Fenris’ mouth to realize it was a page from the relic. She turned it over and read the words scrawled on the back.

_I have the relic and I’m gone. I’ve lost too much over this blighted thing to let it go again. I know it would be noble to give it back to the Qunari but that would take a better soul than I possess._

_For what it’s worth I’m sorry I lied to you again._

 _Isabela_

She let the page fall to the ground.

Isabela was gone.

She’d left her. She sank down on the ground and rested her head on her knees, trying to figure out what this would mean. The relic was gone. The one thing that might have sent the Qunari from the city peacefully. There had to be something she could do. Some action that would keep the whole thing from exploding beneath them. Her mind was blank except for the constantly repeating refrain.

Isabela was gone.

 

The refrain was still there as she lay in bed the next morning, but a dimmer echo of what it had been, almost drowned out by the worry about how the Arishok would take the disappearance of the relic once again. She pulled the covers up higher, almost to her chin, ignoring the fact that it must be close to midday, that she needed to get ready and meet Aveline at the compound. She’d told Bodahn she didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone, to tell anyone who called that she wasn’t in, or she was asleep, or ill or to just fuck off. Bodahn had taken her orders without comment, but she’d seen the concern in his eyes. Fenris had already been by about an hour ago. She couldn’t face him yet. He’d seemed almost as surprised by Isabela’s actions as she had been. Anders hadn’t seemed surprised at all. Neither had Varric, though he’d seemed more regretful. They’d shared a silent drink at the Hanged Man and then parted ways. She and Fenris heading to Hightown, Anders to the Undercity.

Boy had been hit by a Qunari spear, though Anders had healed him without her even having to ask, and he seemed fine now. Fenris had been hit with flying rock from a Tevinter spell and still had the bruise on his cheek from it, though it looked far better after she’d made him down a healing potion. Da’s coat that she’d been wearing was burned from a fireball one of the Tevinter mages had hurled at her. The coat was ruined, though strangely she hadn’t been burned at all. She’d realized that it was actually enchanted, mage robes rather than just a coat. That comforting glow she’d felt from them wasn’t just sentimental memories. It was magic. Magic she’d always associated with Da, so closely that it didn’t even register as magic. And now it was ruined, probably forever. 

There was a gentle knock on her door. 

“I told you, I’m not hungry.” She yelled, and immediately felt guilty for yelling. Orana had tried twice already to bring her breakfast. 

“It’s Sebastian, Anabel. May I come in?”

 _Crap._ She sat up and stared at the door. “Come in.” She said after a moment. 

The door opened and Sebastian walked in.

She watched him walk closer, until he stood beside her. When she didn’t say anything, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. She was wearing a well-worn men’s shirt, probably Carver’s judging from the size of it. Her hair was in two messy braids. She looked little more than a child. 

“I’m sorry about Isabela.” He said softly.

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I should have expected it, I suppose. I’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” 

“Sometimes people aren’t taken from you. Sometimes they just leave.” 

He watched her for a moment. “That’s sounds a bit cynical.”

She shrugged again, toying with the blanket in her lap. “I’m just being honest. Telling it like it is. I’ve decided to stop being so ridiculously naïve.” 

“I see.”

She looked at him sideways. “How did you know?”

“Fenris came by to see me at the Chantry. He’s worried about you. He said you wouldn’t see him.” 

“I’m hiding from everyone. I’m sulking like a five year old child.” She said as if daring him to contradict it. 

His face softened and he reached out a hand and gently stroked the side of her face before he took the hand that had been pleating the blanket. “No, you’re not. You’re hurt. Someone you loved left you. Someone you trusted proved to be unworthy of that trust.” 

She stared down at their joined hands and shook her head. When she spoke her voice was thick with tears. “No. She was scared. She thought I couldn’t keep her safe. She’s seen how many others I’ve failed to save. I don’t blame her for running away.” He felt a hot tear fall on the back of his hand.

And Fenris had thought she was angry with Isabela. Sebastian had never met anyone who insisted on taking such blame for anything that went wrong. He reached out and pulled back the covers ignoring her protests. “Get dressed. I want to show you something.” 

 

The view took her breath away. “It’s beautiful from up here.” She said. You could see for miles. “It almost looks peaceful.” She said wistfully.

He’d brought her to the Chantry, and for one worried moment she’d thought he was going to make her pray, or contemplate or something. Instead they’d begun climbing up a set of stairs she’d never seen before. A seemingly endless set of stairs. They’d climbed and climbed, pausing occasionally to catch their breath. Near the end even her legs were burning with the exertion. Sebastian wouldn’t answer any questions about where he was taking her. They finally reached the top, and he’d pushed open the door, letting her step through. The whole of Kirkwall stretched out in front of them. 

“We’re at the top of the main tower.” She said, suddenly realizing it. She turned to him for confirmation.

“Yes.” He said with a smile.

She turned to look again. It had been raining earlier and there were still clouds in the distance but the sun was shining through now in places. The play of sunlight and shadows, of blue sky and grey clouds was stunning. Almost too beautiful. 

He watched her face as she took in the view. The wind blew strands of hair free from the bun she wore and she brushed them impatiently back. 

“I used to come up here when I first joined the Chantry.” He explained. “When it was too much. I could be alone with my thoughts, and it gave me some perspective.”

She moved closer to the edge resting her hands on the battlements. “I can see that. It makes everything else seem unimportant somehow.” She clambered up to stand on the walkway, and he immediately moved behind her slipping one arm around her waist to steady her. 

She turned her head to look at him. They were almost the same height now. “I’m not going to fall you know.”

“Humor me.”

“I’m hopeless with maps. Tell me what I’m looking at.”

He pointed to the west, where there were still dark clouds and you could see it was raining. “The Planacene Forest.” He turned her in the opposite direction. “Over here you can see as far Ostwick when it’s very clear.” He said.

“Do you ever see Ferelden?” She asked eagerly.

“The coast near Highever on occasion. And Waking Sea.”

“Where?” She asked and her eyes followed his hand as he pointed to the south east. 

He watched her expression. “Do you miss it?” He asked.

She nodded. “Of course. I lived there for almost twenty years. It used to be all I knew.” She took in the panorama. “I want to travel someday. See all these places I’ve read about. See the castles along the Minanter. See the brightly colored houses in Antiva and the tiled roofs. Eat real Rivaini food in Rivain and see if the Rialto Bay is really the turquoise color they say it is.” 

“It is. Blues and greens that are brighter than any you’ve ever seen.” He looked at her and his lips curved into a sudden smile. 

She gave him a suspicious look. “What?” She asked.

“I’ve just realized that your eyes are the colors of the water of the Rialto Bay. If you want to know what it looks like you have only to look in a mirror.” There was a sudden gust of wind and without even asking he lifted her down and wrapped her in his arms, pulling his cloak around them both. 

“It’s cold.” She said. “I didn’t feel it at first after walking up all those stairs.”

“Winter’s almost upon us.”

She turned her face into his chest stealing some warmth from his closeness. “I hate Winter.”

“You’re a creature of springtime.” He said with a gentle smile more than content to let her burrow there. “Of lightness. Of gentle fresh breezes and new beginnings. Of hope.”

She looked up at him momentarily struck dumb by the compliment and the warmth in those blue eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that blue eyes aren’t supposed to be warm? That they’re supposed to be cold and distant?”

“Is that from one of Isabela’s novels?” He said without thinking.

A shadow passed over her face. “Probably.” But instead of pulling away, she let herself lean closer to him. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair.

“I’m sorry.” He said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to bring her up.”

“It seems so strange that she’s gone. Everything’s changing.” She looked out over Kirkwall and Flemeth’s words seemed to echo in her head. “We stand upon the precipice of change…” She murmured.

He gave her a puzzled look. “What did you say?”

She hadn’t intended to say it out loud. “It’s something someone once said to me.” She smiled at him, and deliberately changed the subject. “Thank you for showing me this. It helped. I need to go home now and change. I have to meet Aveline at the Compound.”

“I’m coming with you. Fenris and I both. We already spoke of it.”

She didn’t protest. “Thank you.” She should have brought him along last night. Maybe everything would have turned out differently. They left the roof, making the long descent down the stairs into the Chantry proper, and then out into the Plaza and the streets of Hightown. She was quiet as they walked along, but kept her hand in the crook of his arm, with his larger hand pressed on top of it. 

That he’d agree to come along – had actually volunteered to come, even before she’d been able to ask him made her think of Anders and what he had said yesterday. Once they’d stepped into her house and she’d shrugged of her cloak she turned to Sebastian. “I need to tell you something.” 

She looked so serious suddenly. “All right.” He followed her into the library.

She didn’t even sit down before she began talking. “I went down to the clinic yesterday to ask Anders to come along to help with Isabela and he said something.” She hesitated. “He thinks I try to hide some of what I do from you. That I try to hide who I am.”

Sebastian felt his usual irritation with the mage flare into something stronger. “Does he, now?” he said keeping his tone even and his face carefully neutral.

“I don’t. But there are some jobs I deliberately don’t bring you along on.” 

He hadn’t realized that. “And which ones are those?”

“The gritty ones. The unsavory ones.” She hesitated. “The ones that I worry might remind you of what I was before the Deep Roads Expedition. I’m not ashamed of what I did.” She hesitated. “Well, maybe I am ashamed of some of it. At first we were just grunts for the Red Iron. We didn’t have any say in how things were done. We had to just do what we were told. We needed the coin so badly. We would have starved without it. Would have ended up in the Undercity with all the other refugees. So I did what I had to until I had enough of a reputation that Meeran started putting me in charge of jobs. And then I changed what I could. I didn’t harm or kill anyone I didn’t have to. I refused to beat up people just because they’d pissed off Meeran. The men liked it. The clients liked it as well and we started to get different clients, and different jobs. Better ones. Meeran didn’t like it.” She looked off in the distance. “He didn’t like that at all.”

“Was Meeran the one who wanted to harm you? The one you said had hurt Carver the day you came into the Chantry to light the candle?”

“Yes. I’d made him angry. Not because I wouldn’t act as his enforcer. It was something else.” She seemed lost in the memory and it didn’t seem to be a good memory at all. She was leaving something out of her tale, he knew. Something she wasn’t quite comfortable enough to share with him. She seemed to shake herself free of it. “I haven’t been deliberately trying to hide these jobs from you, not really. Some of them aren’t terribly important. Finding things for people and such. Some of them deal with people I know from before. It isn’t that I’m trying to hide them from you, I just don’t want you to be mixed up in things that….well they might not break the law, but they certainly bend it. Anders is convinced that I’m pretending to be something I’m not with you. I wanted to be certain that you weren’t thinking it as well.”

He stepped closer so he stood directly in front of her and looked her directly in the eye. “There is nothing that you could ever do that you would need to hide from me Anabel Hawke. I couldn’t be prouder of you. Of everything you’ve accomplished and of how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. If there is ever any job you need help with all you have to do is ask and I will be there to aid you in any way I can.”

She felt a rush of relief and gratitude, that he understood, that it had been so easy to say. After all Anders had said, she’d worried. She doubted herself and Sebastian. “Thank you. That means more to me than you can possibly imagine."

She went up on her toes to kiss him, a quick kiss of gratitude on the cheek, but he turned his head so the kiss landed on his mouth and instead of pulling away she found herself leaning in and brushing her lips against his mouth again. He leaned forward, increasing the pressure and to his surprise she ran her tongue along his lips, and suddenly what he’d intended to be a gentle kiss turned into something else, something more. She responded eagerly, and at the first touch of her tongue against his, he pulled her up against him, and it was only when she gave a small yelp as the neckpiece of his armor poked into her chest that he broke the kiss.

“Are you all right?” He asked in concern. Her hand was at her collarbone and he pulled it away and stared at the red mark it had left. “Anabel I’m so sorry.”

“I think you need some less pointy armor.” She said with a teasing smile and then caught her breath as he reached out and touched the mark.

“Yes.” He agreed. “I’m afraid the armor wasn’t designed for lovemaking.” He looked at his hand resting there. His skin looked dark against the paleness of her skin. His fingers trailed down just an inch to the start of the gentle swell of her breast and before his brain could even quite register it he’d bent forward and brushed his lips against the red mark. He heard her sharp intake of breath and lifted his head, and suddenly he was kissing her once more, much more carefully this time, but thoroughly enough that they were both left breathless.

She looked at him with huge eyes. They hadn't kissed like that since that day in her bathing chamber. She'd begun to wonder if they ever would and if she'd imagined how it had felt. She hadn't. “You have more experience than I do with these things: is kissing always like this when you know how?” 

His eyes swept over her face, lingering on her mouth. He'd managed to keep from kissing her these last few weeks. He was having trouble right now remembering just why keeping such tight control over his desires had seemed so important. He slowly shook his head. “No. Only kissing you has ever been like this.”

She tried to keep the pleased smile from her face but he saw it and couldn’t help laughing any more than he could help pulling her into his arms and kissing her again.

They were interrupted by a careful cough from the doorway and they both looked over to find Fenris standing there. “I don’t mean to intrude but Aveline will be waiting for us at the Compound.” He said. 

“I need to change.” Anabel exclaimed, and she quickly ran from the room leaving the two men standing there.

“You were able to help her.” Fenris said with a satisfied smile.

“I think so, yes.” Sebastian agreed as a thought occurred to him. “Fenris, do you know what it was that caused her troubles with the head of the Red Iron?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “With Meeran?” He hesitated. “Hawke hasn’t spoken of it?”

“No. I won’t ask you to break a confidence.” He began, but Fenris cut him off.

“No. I just thought most of Kirkwall knew what had happened. Perhaps the story didn’t make it to the Chantry.” He looked at the prince carefully. “You won’t like it.” He warned.

Which meant it was something that had put Anabel in danger. “I’d still like to know.”

Fenris nodded. “It was shortly before I met her. She and Carver were working for Meeran. Gamlen had arranged it to get them into the city, and to wipe out his own debt. The agreement was that both of them would work for him for a year and the debt would be paid. Their year was almost up when it happened.” He turned to look at the prince. “She used to disguise herself, did you know?”

“She’s told me she did when she was a child.” Sebastian said with a frown.

“Even when I first met her. I think it had become habit by then.”

“And the disguise worked?”

“As unlikely as it seems when you look at her now it did. Meeran came upon her in the bath one day, and realized the disguise.”

Sebastian felt a growing sense of dread but nothing prepared him for the rush of rage he felt at Fenris’ next words.

“He tried to rape her.” 

His hands clenched into fists. “He didn’t...” He couldn’t even say the words.

“No.” Fenris assured him. “He didn’t succeed. She incapacitated him and left him tied to a chair with his own belt to be found by his own men. He swore revenge. Swore he would have her and when he was done share her with others. He started by making sure no one would hire her. He attacked her in an alleyway one night when she was alone and left her with a head injury that nearly killed her before we could get there. If it hadn’t been for the mage’s healing skills I think it would have killed her. And when she had finally gathered coin for the expedition, the coin that would put her beyond his reach he attacked us with all his men. Aveline saved her that time. Showed up with the guard. When Meeran saw his plan had failed, he stabbed Carver. He knew that killing Carver would cause her pain, perhaps more pain than his raping her and sharing her with his men.” 

“She killed him.” Sebastian said wanting to hear it. Wanting to know that this monster who had tried to not just kill her but break her, to destroy everything she was, was dead.

“Yes. She nearly took his head clean off.” 

That was why she had been so desperate for coin. Sweet Andraste. He tried to remember what she had called that fight. A kerfuffle, she had said that day in the Chantry. She had joked. Had been so happy that Carver was alive. He would never have guessed what had happened to her just the night before.

“You would never know it.” He said. At Fenris’ perplexed look he explained. “All that she has been through. All that she’s suffered, and lost. She’s lived through such horrors, and she’s still one of the most joyful people I know.”

“She is one of those exceptional individuals who have seen the worst of things and instead of being buried by bitterness or resentment, rejoices in the good that can still be found.” 

Sebastian stared at him in astonishment. “Yes.” He said. “That’s it exactly.”

“She is a rare woman.” Said Fenris carefully. “A rare person.”

“Unique.” Sebastian agreed.

“Who’s unique?” Hawke asked from the doorway. She wore the same elegant black armor she had the day of Saemus’ funeral, but her hair was pulled back into a thick fishtail braid. She looked calm and composed. A force to be reckoned with, whereas earlier today huddled in her bed she had seemed little more than a scared unhappy child. The transformation was impressive.

Sebastian thought of that thug Meeran daring to lay his hands on her, and crossed to her side, lifting her hand to his lips. “You are.”

“Hmm.” She said dubiously. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a wondrous thing.” He assured her. 

They left the mansion and walked down to the Docks, and Anabel grew more grim-faced as they neared the compound. Aveline was waiting for them with a dozen of her guards. 

“Ready?” She asked Hawke.

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.“ They moved towards the gate.

“I request an audience with the Arishok.” Aveline said formally.

The Qunari’s eyes went over all of them, lingering on Hawke and then returning to Aveline. “It is allowed, but not in these numbers.”

Aveline seemed unsurprised at the response. “I will only bring my friend,” She said, indicating Hawke, “and a small compliment of my guard.”

“That is acceptable.” He agreed, and went back to his post, ignoring them.

Aveline turned to give orders to the guards, and Hawke quickly crossed to Sebastian and Fenris. They were both frowning.

“Sorry. It appears you’re not invited to the party.” She said, trying to make light of it.

“I do not like it.” Growled Fenris. 

“Anabel…”Sebastian started to say, but she cut him off.

“There’s nothing we can do about it, but hope we can retrieve these fugitives without incident. The fact that he’s allowing any of the guard in is a good sign. He wouldn’t just attack us with no provocation, and we won’t give him any.” She didn’t mention the nagging worry that perhaps the Arishok felt Kirkwall had provoked him more than enough already. She gave them what she hoped would pass for a reassuring smile. “Go on and order us some drinks at the Hanged Man. We’ll be there in no time.”

She turned and walked back to Aveline, and Sebastian could only watch as they disappeared into the compound and the gate closed behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pictures and pose references, including of a picture of the view from the Chantry are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	33. Reunions, Introductions, and a Final Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qunari invade the city, and Hawke and her companions must deal with the consequences.

Hawke and Aveline rounded another corner and ducked behind some crates, pausing to catch their breath.

She looked over at Aveline. The Guard Captain was bent over, one hand resting on the crate. “You all right?”

Aveline immediately straightened up. “Surprisingly, yes. They weren’t aiming for us.” She made it a statement, not a question. Spears had been flying everywhere, all the accompanying guards were dead, but she and Hawke didn’t have a scratch on them.

Hawke shook her head. “No. They were trying to take us hostage.”

“They do that?”

Anabel nodded. “It’s what usually happens when the Qunari try and take a city. Anyone they consider a person of importance is taken hostage and offered a chance to convert.”

Aveline bristled. “And if they refuse to convert, they kill them?”

“The books I’ve read are remarkably vague about that, but I hardly think they just let them go with a cookie and a pat on the head.” Hawke said dryly.

“You had to go and tell him you would have done the same thing as those elves.” Said Aveline.

For a moment she didn’t know whether to be angry, or to laugh at Aveline’s reprimanding tone. Almost since the day they’d met the woman had been the bossy older sister she wasn’t quite certain she’d ever wanted, but she knew Aveline did it out of love. “If someone had done that to my sister and the guard had ignored it? Damn straight I would have killed them. You know that. Did I hesitate with Keldar?”

Aveline rubbed her forehead. “Did you have to come right out and out and agree with him? Couldn’t you have stayed quiet?”

Hawke just looked at her.

“Right. Stupid question.” Aveline said shaking her head. “I’ve talked to you before about that. You need to think before you speak. And occasionally not speak."

“Aveline.” Said Hawke reproachfully. “The only reason the Arishok even talks to me is because I’ve never been less than honest with him. He knows the things I’ve done; he’s heard every rumor about me. If I hadn’t answered honestly it would only have made things worse.”

She spoke with such conviction that Aveline felt herself wavering. “You’re that certain about it? I can’t help thinking that if you hadn’t agreed with him he wouldn’t have ordered the attack.”

Hawke stared at her for a moment and then took her by the arm, bringing her over to the steps to Lowtown. “Listen to that.” She ordered.

Aveline lifted her head and did as Hawk asked. She could hear new sounds now. Not from the Docks but from Lowtown. Sounds of fighting and destruction. She turned back to Hawke. “The Qunari are storming the city.” 

“Yes.” Said Hawke simply.

Aveline's mouth formed a grim line. “He couldn’t have gotten his people up to Lowtown already. They were already there, waiting for some signal. The Arishok must have been planning this for weeks.”

“Since Saemus’ murder I would imagine.” 

“What does he hope to gain from it? He has to know the whole of the Free Marches will answer this. The whole of Thedas.”

Hawke thought of the look the Arishok had given her as they’d fled the compound. She didn’t know if she’d go as far as to call it regretful. It had been the look of a man who thought he simply had no other option. “I don’t think he cares at this point. The Qun calls for order. Even if it’s order through chaos apparently.” She would never understand the Qunari, but now that the worst had happened she felt strangely calm about it. 

“We can’t do this on our own.” Aveline was saying. “I need to rally the Guard.”

Hawke nodded her agreement. “The Qunari will be heading for the Keep first. Take the Chantry stairs, not the one by the market. They’ll have fewer men that way. I’ll go to The Hanged Man, see if I can find the others and then meet you in Hightown. Let’s try and meet up at my place and we’ll go from there.” She hesitated and then added. “I’m sorry. About the guardsmen you lost in the compound.”

Aveline looked away for a moment. “They knew it was a possibility, all the guard do. But thank you.” 

Anabel gave her arm a squeeze and walked away. Aveline called her name and when the girl turned back with a questioning look, said. “You’d better come through this alive or I’ll find you in the afterlife and kick your ass.”

She just grinned. “Why Guard Captain, you do know how to sweet talk a girl.” She said, before her face grew serious. “The same goes for you.” She turned and ran off down the narrow alley that would let her out just below the Hanged Man, praying that Sebastian and the others were all right.

As she reached the foot of the stairs there was a sudden rush of people coming towards her, and she barely had time to step aside flooded past her, some screaming, some weeping, all of them terrified. The Qunari attack had taken Kirkwall by surprise. It was ridiculous, given how tensions had been growing. She should have done more. At least warned people it was coming. The city should have been better prepared. She silently cursed her own inaction these past few weeks. When the crowd had thinned enough she started up the stairs, increasing her pace as she heard the sound of more fighting. 

 

Sebastian fired arrow after arrow, praying that he and Varric and Fenris would give the crowd they’d come upon time to escape down the steps to the Undercity. How in the Maker’s name had it come to this? All out war with the Qunari. 

He moved back trying to maintain firing distance between himself and the brutes. He dodged a spear that was thrown towards him, dimly aware of Fenris’ tattoos flaring as he charged into the horned beasts, and Varric’s laughing and calling out “Come on, let’s dance, you sons of bitches.” 

Something, someone flew past him, almost literally, a blur of black leather and flaming hair, spinning and slashing and tumbling. 

Anabel. 

Relief flooded through him, and the knowledge that she was alive and apparently unharmed gave him renewed stamina. He wasn’t sure if was her skill or the element of surprise but they seemed to have gained the upper hand and between the four of them they quickly eliminated the remaining Qunari.

Anabel slowly straightened up from the low crouch she’d landed in and she stared solemnly up at him. Except for her flushed cheeks and some escaped strands of hair she looked as polished and put together as when they’d left her house. There didn’t seem to be a mark on her. For a moment they just looked at each other.

“So, the meeting with the Arishok didn’t go too well.” She said, unsmiling, her blue green eyes huge in her face.

Sebastian stared down at her, and then they both moved at the same time, dropping their weapons on the ground and she was in his arms with her legs locked around his waist and he was kissing her, and they were both holding on as if they’d never let go. 

Sebastian broke the kiss, but didn’t put her down. “I thought…. when we saw the Qunari in the streets…I thought..."

“I’m all right.” She reassured him. Her hand ran over the side of his face. “I was worried that you...” She didn’t finish the sentence but leaned forward and kissed him again, less frantically this time. 

“Uh, Hawke.” She heard Varric say. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this after waiting so long to see it, but maybe we should save the kissing for another time?” 

Anabel broke the kiss, and looked over at Varric and Fenris who had come to their side. She couldn’t help laughing. They were all right. She looked back at Sebastian. “Yours.” She whispered softly, resting her forehead against his. “No matter what happens tonight.”

His arms tightened around her. _Dear Maker let them make it through this._ He brushed his lips near her temple. “Yours.” He said quietly. 

She untangled her legs from around him and reluctantly he let her slide to the ground. They couldn’t seem to quite let go of each other though. She leaned against him as she told them what had happened in the compound, how the fugitives from justice had actually been trying to get justice for their sister who had been raped by one of the guard, how when they’d tried to report it they had been ignored, so they’d taken justice into their own hands. 

“The Arishok asked what I would have done in that situation.” She looked away, remembering Lia, who had been so abused by the Magistrate’s son. Remembering Meeran, and that moment when she’d thought he might…. “I told him I probably would have done the same.” Sebastian’s arm tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she looked up at him. His face was filled with such sympathy that she briefly wondered if he had heard the story about Meeran. He'd never mentioned it.

“Aveline must have loved that.” Said Varric.

Hawke turned back to him with a small shrug. “She knows me. She knows I’m not going to lie or stay quiet about things like that. Anyway, she tried to promise the Arishok that she’d see the matter was properly investigated but he said it was too late, he couldn’t just stand by and watch the things that go on here any longer.”

“This is no unplanned attack.” Fenris pointed out.

“No.” She agreed. “He’s been preparing for a while.”

Probably since Saemus' murder, thought Sebastian. “They’ll have wanted to surprise those who would offer a serious challenge.” He said aloud. "They won’t go to the Gallows, not right away. The only way from the Gallows is by boat, and they probably control the Docks by now. They'll deal with the more immediate threat, the Guardsmen at the Keep, and the Templars stationed at the Chantry."

“Yes.” Anabel agreed. She hesitated for just a moment before adding. “We think they’re taking hostages.” 

Sebastian thought of Elthina and his jaw clenched. “We need to get to Hightown.” 

“Agreed.” She said with a nod of her head. 

He leaned down and gave her one more firm kiss, looking into those magnificent eyes. They would survive this. He would keep her safe. He would keep Elthina safe. He wasn’t going to lose his family again. Retrieving his bow from the ground where he’d dropped they moved to the steps leading to the Lowtown market. 

They heard the sound of fighting before they’d even rounded the corner. Exchanging a look, the four of them broke into a run, charging down the alley by Gamlen’s place. 

Two groups were charging towards each other, Qunari and a vastly outnumbered group of soldiers. Hawke and Fenris exchanged a look and charged forward into the fight. Sebastian ran halfway up one staircase and Varric up the other. Even as he fired his arrows Sebastian couldn’t help noticing the grace with which Anabel and Fenris fought. Since their decision to let Anabel use Fenris’ markings their fighting seemed almost choreographed, it was that precise, that smooth. He watched as Anabel spun as she leapt, opening the throat of the Qunari in front of her and then saw her suddenly still and turn in the opposite direction her eyes going wide.

“Saarebas!” She shouted loudly, but the warning came too late for one of the soldiers, a tall massively built man, whose face was hidden by the helmet he wore.

The Qunari mage teleported directly in front of him and released a burst of electricity that threw the soldier back and to the ground before he even had a chance to raise his sword in defense. Anabel saw him struggle to get up, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. The saarebas began to stalk towards him, his hands already crackling with electricity. 

She was too far away to reach him in time. A smite, she thought. Would it work? She’d never deliberately attempted it: when she’d used it against Hadriana and Quentin it had been instinctual, born of fear and anger, uncontrolled, just one more thing to lash out with. She reached somewhere inside herself and pulled, for want of a better word and then threw it towards the mage, flinging her arm out though some part of her knew that the action was unnecessary. To her relief it did work. She felt it leave her, weaker and less focused than those other times, but it was enough to stagger the saarebas and momentarily halt his attack. 

She didn’t hesitate, but charged at him in a series of flips, ending by soaring over his head, landing behind him and thrusting her dagger up into his back, into his heart. He staggered and fell with a great thud and Fenris was there, bringing his sword down and killing him.

The Qunari had been eliminated.

Anabel looked quickly around. “Is everyone all right?” She asked.

Sebastian and Varric were unharmed and coming quickly to her side. She turned to Fenris with a questioning glance, and he nodded letting her know that he too was uninjured. She let out a breath in sheer relief and turned towards the soldiers. They had gone immediately to their injured companion. One of them stood as she approached and she noticed for the first time the emblem on the uniform.

A griffon on a field of blue.

She looked up and her eyes widened as she recognized the man in front of her. “Stroud?”

He looked exactly the same as he had three years ago, right down to the ridiculous Orlesian moustache he still wore. He inclined his head, seemingly unsurprised by her presence.

She immediately looked around at the other wardens. Was he here? Her eyes went back to Stroud, questioning and he stepped aside.

The tall soldier who had been injured was pulling off his helmet. He turned to face her.

“Carver?” He had changed. His face was leaner and harder somehow. The difference between a boy of nineteen and a man of twenty-two. She started to smile but it faltered when she saw his expression.

“Hello sister. Fancy meeting you here.” His face was closed off as he looked at her. His eyes went first to Fenris then to Varric and Sebastian who had come up to join them, and then back to Anabel, taking in the elegant armor and fine blades. He shook his head. “Somehow I knew it would be you, charging in to the rescue like that.”

“You’re in Kirkwall.” She said stupidly. He couldn’t have just gotten here could he? Why hadn’t he let her know?

“Observant as ever.” He looked at Fenris, standing by her side. “I see you found another fighting partner.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Was she not supposed to have? “Are you hurt? Anders isn’t with us, but I’ve got potions.” She offered.

He cut her off. “I’m fine.” He stared at her a moment longer. “I should have known you’d be in the middle of this mess.

“You know how it is.” She said with a smile, trying to joke. “Wherever there’s trouble, that’s where you’ll find me.”

His expression remained unchanged. ‘The last time trouble followed you it found Mother instead.”

The words hit her like a blow. He’d gotten the letter then. Hers or Gamlen’s, it didn’t matter which. She felt Fenris and Sebastian both move closer to her, and dimly heard Varric mutter. “Still a tit, eh, Junior?”

Carver flushed red at the words, but didn’t take his eyes from her.

“I did my best to save her.” Said Anabel, her voice low.

“Some of us have learned the hard way that your best isn’t always good enough. I’m sure Mother and Bethany would back me up on this. If they were here.” He turned away from her to pick up his helmet.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You know, I’d forgotten just how much of a shit you can be when you really make the effort.” 

“Well it’s a good thing I survived the Joining so I could come back and remind you, isn’t it?”

“So your being a Grey Warden is somehow my fault too?” She demanded.

“Isn’t it?” He said with a sneer.

“You were dying.” She reminded him. “You aren’t now.”

To her surprise Carver started laughing, though it wasn’t a happy sound at all. Before she could ask him what the Void was wrong with him, Stroud had stepped between them.

“We don’t have time for this.” He said giving Carver what seemed to be a warning look.

Having had more than enough of Carver she turned to Stroud. “Are there more of you? We could use your help.”

“We’re not the help you need.” Said Carver. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” She snapped at him without even looking. 

“You have our sincere thanks, Serrah Hawke.” Said Stroud. He looked around at the Qunari corpses. “I cannot believe the Qunari would dare such an attack. This will lead to war in the Free Marches for certain. I fear pressing matters take us elsewhere, but we can spread word to the other Free March cities. Perhaps they will send aid.” He signaled to the others and they turned as a group heading towards the Docks, Carver included.

“There’s something more pressing than an invasion?” She called after them, unable to believe they were just going to leave.

Carver gave her a disdainful look. “We can’t talk about it. Grey Warden business.” 

“Ass.” She muttered under her breath, just loudly enough so Carver could hear it. It was something she’d perfected when they were growing up. She saw him scowl and couldn’t help smirking in satisfaction.

Carver saw it and his scowl deepened. “Stroud, we need to move. We’ve already delayed too long.”

“Very true.” Said Stroud and he walked towards his men.

Carver looked back at Anabel. “Good bye sister. I won’t tell you to take care of yourself. You always manage to do that.” He walked away to join the other Grey Wardens, leaving Anabel staring after him in disbelief.

Even Stroud seemed embarrassed. He walked back to her. “He only received your uncle’s letter just before we departed. I don’t believe he has come to terms with the news.” 

_Who of us has_ , Anabel thought. But she nodded mutely. 

Stroud seemed to realize his explanation hadn’t helped and he reached in his pocket. “Here.” He taking her hand and pressing something into it. “Take this. It isn’t much but it is all that we can spare. Perhaps it will be of use.” 

Her hand closed around it automatically, but her eyes never left Carver’s retreating figure. “Thank you.” She said.

“Maker watch over you.” Said Stroud and turned to join his men.

She stood there until they were out of sight. Her companions exchanged glances uncertain of what to say.

Sebastian reached out a hand, touching her lightly on the arm.

She turned to look at him. “I can’t. I can’t think about this. I can’t deal with Carver and his crap right now.” If she thought about it she’d be unable to do what needed doing right now. She didn’t have that luxury.

Sebastian nodded. 

“We need to get to Hightown.” She turned and walked towards the Lowtown market

 

The journey to Hightown was a blur of fighting. More Qunari. Carta and Coterie criminals taking advantage of the chaos to loot and steal, and elves, group after group of elves. Hawke didn’t know if they were converts, or just so fed up with life in the alienage that they were willing to fight alongside the Qunari. 

She killed anyone who got in her way until finally they’d reach the Hightown marketplace.

After the mobs they’d encountered in Lowtown, Hightown seemed almost deserted. They climbed the stairs and she heard a woman’s cries. Reaching the top, they saw two Qunari. One of them dragging a woman behind them by one leg. She was screaming loudly. Sweet Andraste. Was that Lady Reinhardt? She ran towards them, followed closely by the others.

“ _Pashaara_!” The Karashok was shouting, as Lady Reinhardt continued her shrieking. “Cease your struggles, woman!” 

He looked up and saw Hawke and her companions standing there and dropped the woman’s leg as if he were a hunter who had spotted more impressive prey. Lady Reinhardt quickly scrambled to her feet and ran.

“ _Teth a, bas_!” The Karishok shouted to the Sten.

The Sten stepped up beside the Karishok, looking her up and down with an almost grudging respect. “Then the Arishok failed to take you. That shall be remedied.”

So she had been marked as a hostage.

Had it only been the two Qunari they fought, it would have been over quickly, but more Qunari seemed to pour into the market from every doorway and shadow and staircase. She saw Fenris take down yet another Saarebas. Varric and Sebastian, firing bolt after bolt, and arrow after arrow. An Ashaad grabbed her and, using his own body as leverage she flipped him to the ground, landing on top of him, and plunging her daggers into his chest. She leapt up, looking around for her next target but the fighting seemed to have ceased. The marketplace was littered with corpses. 

She was about to ask if everyone was all right when she felt it, someone pulling their magic, but before she could summon the breath to warn the others there was a blast from behind them and they were all knock flat. 

Hawke tried to push herself up, tried to focus. The saarebas that they had somehow missed was stalking towards them summoning another spell; she could feel it, feel the magic being gathered again even before she saw the first electrical sparks appear in his hands. She tried to summon a smite, but nothing happened. Maybe she was too exhausted or too drained from the spell that had hit them, but whatever it was, whatever made her able to smite a mage just didn’t seem to be there. She pushed herself to her knees with a hoarse scream of frustration, still trying, vaguely aware of movement behind the saarebas, some dim part of her praying that it wasn’t more Qunari. She saw the saarebas pause by Sebastian’s prone form, saw the crackling electricity grow in his hands and suddenly she felt it, it was back, and with a triumphant cry she hurled it at the mage and she felt the smite leave her in a rush of power that left her on all fours, trembling as if she’d physically attacked the mage. The spell he’d been casting just dissipated, leaving the saarebas looking at his hands in confusion, a look that only intensified when a sword suddenly pierced his chest from behind. As he began to fall, the sword was yanked out and swung, and he fell, his body in one direction and his head rolling away in another.

The owner of the sword was staring down at her and Hawke blinked in surprise as she recognized the Knight Commander. She’d never met the woman, only seen her from a distance on a few occasions. She was even more imposing up close. Tall, well-muscled enough to effortlessly carry the heavy Templar plate. She had pale blond hair and the coldest light blue eyes Hawke had ever seen, and just looking at her Hawke could believe every terrifying story she’d heard about her. She walked over to where Hawke knelt and reaching out her hand, pulled Hawke none too gently to her feet.

“I am Knight Commander Meredith.” She looked down at the girl in front of her and frowned. “I know you. The name Hawke has turned up in my reports many times. Too many.” She looked down at the Saarebas, and then back to Hawke, her frown deepening. “What happened here.” It wasn’t a question, it was an order.

“They’re taking hostages. Apparently my name is on the list. I declined the invitation.”

Meredith didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. “I was referring to the mage.”

Hawke blinked innocent eyes at her. “The mage? He attacked us.”

A hint of impatience came to those pale eyes. “And how did he fall?”

Anabel let a hint of confusion come to her face. “You put your sword through him.”

Those icy eyes narrowed. “Few people take me for a fool, Serrah Hawke.”

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ “I’m sorry Knight Commander I don’t understand what you’re asking.” 

“We should get to the Keep, Knight Commander. And to the Chantry. The Grand Cleric…” Sebastian interrupted. 

“The Chantry is secure. I left Knight Captain Cullen there with a full contingent of Templars. We need to move to the Keep. It may already be under the control of the Qunari. If so we need to deal with them.” 

“We should move quickly then.” Hawke said brusquely. Meredith couldn’t prove anything. And even if she could it was a problem for another day.

Meredith gave Hawke another sharp look. “You said they’re taking hostages? For what purpose?”

It was Fenris who answered her. “They will round up anyone of import. Those that agree to convert live. Those that don’t…” His voice trailed off.

“Charming.” Meredith commented dryly. “Head to the Keep, and I will see if I can find more of my men. These creatures will pay for this outrage.” She left without another word.

“I think she likes you, Hawke.” said Varric.

“This day just gets better and better.” Anabel looked at the others. “Do you think she knows?” She asked.

Sebastian came up behind her, letting his hands rest on her waist and she let herself leaning back against him, feeling his lips brush against her hair. “I think she knows something odd happened. I don’t think she knows quite what.” Said Sebastian.

“Yes. That was the impression I got.” She said looking after Meredith’s retreating form. _Shit_ , she thought again. “So we don’t mention it, if accused we deny it, and I don’t use it unless we’re certain we’re alone.” Or unless someone’s safety depends on it she added silently. She turned her head to look up at Sebastian and Fenris’ words suddenly came back.

_Those that agree to convert, live. Those that don’t…_

Her heart was suddenly in her throat and she straightened up.

Sebastian would never agree to convert. Never.

Sebastian saw the sudden fear in her eyes. “Meredith won’t harm you. I promise.” 

“It’s not that. I just...” There was no way to say what she wanted to say. 

_Stay alive. If they offer you a choice between life and death, take life, even if it means lying. Even if it means denying the Maker in front of everyone._

Sebastian would never do that.

If she wanted him to live, they had to win this fight.

“Come.” She said with new determination. “I want to stop by the mansion and pick up some things.” 

After fighting through the Merchant’s Guild courtyard, battling more Qunari and the Carta, they finally made it there, quickly retrieving more supplies, and Boy. The way things were going Hawke figured they would need everyone who could fight. They left almost immediately, instructing Bodahn to keep everything barricaded until one of them came back. 

Bodahn just chuckled. “My boy can handle anything the Qunari have got.”

“Boom.” Said Sandal in agreement.

Hawke leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and then kissed Bodahn as well. Orana was cowering in the corner and Hawke quickly crossed to her giving her a hug. “We’ll fix this Orana. Stay with Bodahn and do as he says.”

Orana nodded, her huge eyes brimming with tears. “Maker watch over you, Mistress.” She whispered shakily.

Hawke gave her one last squeeze and they left the mansion.

The square in front of the house, which had been deserted when they‘d gotten there was now a scene of battle. Circle mages, she realized, fighting against Qunari. Fighting badly, but she couldn’t imagine Meredith sanctioned any useful magic as part of Circle training. They charged out, doing what they could, eventually defeating the Qunari, but failing to save the mages. 

Anabel turned over one of the bodies. A girl, barely more than a teenager. She got to her feet, looking at them. “Damn it to the Void!” She shouted giving vent to her frustration. “What were they even doing here?”

“Hawke.” She heard Fenris call. He knelt beside another mage, an elf, grey haired and wearing elegant robes, slowly pushing himself upright. She quickly ran over to them.

“Many thanks my friend.” His voice was cultured and smooth. 

“Are you all right?” She asked, looking him over. He seemed unharmed. “You’ve fared better than the others.” She said with relief. 

“The others?” He repeated. When he saw the expression in her eyes, he shook his head in denial. “No. They can’t all be dead.” He pushed himself up and ran to the other mages, and Hawke followed close behind.

“I’m sorry.” She said, kneeling beside him and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He was staring at the young girl. “Gone. I told them to run. Why didn’t they run?” 

“First Enchanter Orsino. You survive.” Even Anabel could hear the trace of disappointment in Meredith’s voice.

Orsino stiffened at the sound and immediately got to his feet, wiping his face clean of the emotion that had been there. “Your relief overwhelms me, Knight Commander.” 

Hawke could feel the dislike crackle between the two. 

Meredith walked up to them with three other templars, scowling at the First Enchanter. “There’s no time for talk. We must strike back before it’s too late.” 

Hawke just stared at her. Four templars, one mage and the four of them against all the Qunari in Kirkwall?

“And who will lead us into battle? You, I suppose?” Orsino asked, apparently sharing Hawke’s skepticism.

“I will fight to defend this city as I have always done.” Snapped Meredith.

“To control it you mean.” Said Orsino bitterly. “I won’t have our lives tossed to the flames just to feed your vanity.”

Meredith was about to respond, when Hawke stepped between them.

“We need to work together, not kill each other while we fight about who’s going to lead. I can’t say I’m convinced you two are capable of that.” She said impatiently.

Meredith looked outraged by her words, but Orsino gave her an appraising look.

“The elf called you Hawke. The Hawke?” She’d seen that expression on many faces, and she waited for him to follow up with _you can’t be Hawke, you’re too young, too small, too pretty_ but to her surprise what he said was. “Then perhaps you should lead us.”

Hawke wasn’t sure which of them looked more startled at the suggestion, she or Meredith. 

“What? She’s not even of this city.”

Orsino’s mouth curved into a smile. “Neither am I but I don’t see you fighting about both of us risking our lives defending the city.”

Meredith ignored him and turned to look at Hawke, a careful, calculating look. One corner of her mouth curved into a cold smile. “Very well then. But whatever you plan, be quick about it.” 

Most wouldn’t recognize that look for what it was, but Hawke had worked for Meeran for far too long to not see what Meredith was planning. Send the competition into an impossible situation. Take credit if they win, place blame if they failed. Though why the woman would possibly consider her competition was beyond her understanding. 

“Tell us then, Hawke.” Said the Knight Commander expectantly. “What is our course of action?”

“Not to get killed?” Anabel suggested with a playful grin.

Meredith snorted derisively. 

Good. If Meredith thought her a frivolous fool she would be more likely to regard her as harmless. “Or we could find out what they’re up to. That works too.” She walked past the woman and headed up the stairs to the Keep. She knew her companions would follow. She didn’t bother to see if Meredith did.

 

As it turned out they all followed her. When they reached the top of the first flight of stairs Anabel peered around the corner looking at the entrance. A full squad of Qunari waited by the doors. She pulled back and gestured to Meredith to look.

The Knight Commander was scowling when she straightened up. “Then they’ve already taken it. Clearly they’ve been planning this for some time.”

 _No shit_ , thought Hawke but she didn’t say it out loud. 

This was the only way in. They needed a distraction. If they could somehow get the Qunari away from the doors, even for a little while, perhaps she and her companions could sneak inside. She wondered briefly where Aveline and her guards were, and offered a prayer that they were all right.

“We must assault them before their numbers grow.” Meredith was insisting.

“Are you mad? They have hostages!” Orsino answered, voicing aloud exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Orsino’s right.” Hawke agreed. “We can’t risk the hostages, and nine of us against a full squad of Qunari won’t accomplish much.” 

“We need to get you and your companions inside.” Said Orsino.

She found herself liking the First Enchanter. “We need some sort of distraction.” She said to him. 

“And just how will we accomplish that?” asked Meredith.

“Have a little confidence Knight Commander.” Orsino said and before anyone could stop him he’d pulled his staff out from behind him and walked out in full sight of the Qunari. Anabel saw the Sten by the doors spot him immediately and move slowly forward to the top of the stairs.

Orsino summoned a flame in each hand. “You will not conquer this city.” He shouted.

“Saarebas!” Called one of the Qunari in warning.

Anabel felt the pull as Orsino summoned his magic. Powerful magic, she realized with a small shiver. She quickly gestured to her companions to follow her.

The fireball that Orsino conjured was truly impressive. A thing of beauty. As it went racing towards the Qunari, momentarily blinding them Hawke and the others rushed to hide in the shadows behind the pillars that lined the approach as the screams of the burning Qunari echoed against the stone walls. Orsino glanced over and gave them an almost imperceptible nod before once more summoning fire to his hands, and walking slowly backwards. The outraged Qunari stormed towards him and he threw more fireballs, smaller ones this time, constant enough that they kept them blinded, and Hawke and her companions slipped quietly up the stairs and into the Keep.

 

They were slightly the worse for wear by the time they made it to the throne room. Sebastian was limping slightly. From the way Fenris was holding himself, she thought he might have cracked a rib. She knew that she’d broken her little finger on the horn of that last Sten she’d killed. It was such a ridiculous injury she didn’t say anything about it. 

“Stop a minute.” She said just outside the door. She could hear the Arishok inside:

“Like fat _dathrassi_ you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted.”

“How many healing potions do we have left?” She asked quietly, ignoring the Arishok’s lecture. The number proved to be far smaller than she would have wished. She made both Sebastian and Fenris take one. 

“What about you?” Asked Sebastian. 

“I’m fine.” She said, carefully keeping her hand behind her. She'd fought before with injuries that were far more serious. She'd rather save the potion for the fight to come. “Fenris take another.” She ordered.

“I’m fine.” Said Fenris. “We should save them for the battle.”

She uncorked a bottle and handed it to him. “There won’t be a battle if you can’t lift your own sword above your head.” She pointed out and he took the potion and drank it. He scowled but he drank it.

She made sure each of them had at least one potion. That left two extra. 

“You and Fenris should have them.” Said Sebastian. “Varric and I are ranged fighters. You’re far more likely to need them. 

She couldn’t argue with his logic. She passed one to Fenris, and tucked the other away. 

“Here is your viscount.” There were horrified cries and then a thump on the door.

No. She yanked open the door to find the Viscount’s head lying there. The crown rolled towards her, landing at her feet.

“Andraste have mercy on his soul.” She heard Sebastian murmur.

A cold rage filled her and she looked up. The nobles had been herded to the center of the floor. The Arishok stood on the first landing. He had spotted them immediately when the door opened.

“But we have guests.” He said, and balancing his huge sword almost casually on his shoulder he walked slowly towards them.

As he walked past the first of Kirkwall’s nobles she saw Brendon, the seneschal’s son, step forward all the arrogance she’d disliked in him showing plainly on his face and in his tone. “You dare?” He said haughtily. “You are starting a war. You…”

The Arishok didn’t even look, just gave the smallest of gestures and an Ashaad stepped forward and snapped Brendon’s neck. He fell to the floor, lifeless. She heard Sebastian softly murmuring another prayer, but she kept her face composed, hoping that Bran wasn’t here, that he hadn’t seen his only son end that way.

The Arishok stopped a few feet away from her. “ _Shanedan_ , Hawke. I expected you. _Meraas toh ebrashok_. You alone are _basalit an_.” He looked around at the people cowering there. “This is what respect looks like _bas_. Some of you will never earn it.” He turned back to look at Hawke.

“So tell me Hawke. You know I cannot withdraw, that I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”

There was a disturbance at the doors, and a Qunari soldier came flying in, landing on his back and there was Isabela, a smirk on her face, book in hand walking towards them, making certain to step on the prone soldier as she walked to join them. “I believe I can answer that.” 

Hawke felt like laughing for joy. “You always have to make an entrance don’t you?”

Isabela gave her a lazy grin and turned to the Arishok holding out the book. “I’m sure you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged.”

The Arishok took it slowly. He ran his hands over the cover reverently. “The Tome of Koslun.”

Isabela looked over at Hawke. “It took me a while to get back what with the fighting everywhere. You know how it is.” She said with a shrug.

Anabel couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Isabela had come back, had come back with the book when she could have just left. “Heroic acts of sacrifice? What will people say?” 

“This is your damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick when I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.”

The Arishok turned and carefully handed the book to one of his men. “The relic is now reclaimed. I am free to return to Par Vollen. With the thief.”

Hawke whirled to face him.

“What!” Exclaimed Isabela.

“You thought you could strand them here for four years without consequence?” asked Fenris not bothering to hide his anger.

“No.” Said Hawke. “You’ve got your bloody relic. Take it and go.”

The Arishok seemed disappointed and honestly she couldn’t have cared less. “She stole the Tome of Koslun.” He reminded her. “She must return with us.”

“She stays here, with us.” Hawke insisted.

“I’m sure he’ll take that well.” Muttered Varric. “Rivaini, you might want to move a bit this way.”

The Arishok had a disapproving frown on his face. “Then you leave me no choice.” He said. “I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death with her as the prize.” 

Hawke lifted her chin defiantly.

“No!” Isabela cried out. “If you’re going to duel anyone duel me.”

The Arishok didn’t even spare her a glance. “You are not _basalit an_. You are unworthy.”

“If I win then your men leave Kirkwall. No reprisals. No more fighting.” She wanted to be sure she'd understood that correctly.

“Kill me and the duty that binds me is ended. The others will return to Par Vollen.”

“And if you kill me?” She asked.

“Then you are dead. We return to Par Vollen with the Tome and the thief.”

She stared at him her heart thundering in her chest. If she could do this…she had to stop and take a deep breath. She saw the Viscount’s head tossed by the door. Saw Brendan’s body left lying where it had fallen. She glanced at her companions. Fenris’ face was unreadable. Varric looked disbelieving. Isabela was pale and shaking her head, silently asking her not to do this. Sebastian… 

Sebastian looked as if he were dreading what she was going to say. As if he knew already what she was going to do. 

They didn’t stand a chance in a fight with the Qunari. The assembled nobles were unarmed and most of them couldn’t fight anyway. Maker knew where Meredith and the Templars or the Guard were, or how long it would take them to arrive. It would be her and her companions at risk. If they lost….

Fenris and Varric would accept conversion and stay alive. Sebastian would die before he did. And Maker knew what the Qunari intended for Isabela.

She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t risk losing anyone else.

_We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment. And when it comes do not hesitate to leap…_

“All right.” She said turning back to the Arishok with a cold smile and a small inclination of her head. “Let’s dance”

It was time to see if she could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration pictures and other Dragon Age related ramblings can be found here:
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)
> 
> I'm also excited because a wonderfully talented artist, Jin of brushfireartshenanigans, drew a picture of Anabel. I'm now using it as my avatar here on AO3 but if you want a closer look you can find it here: [Anabel Hawke sketch](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/post/66483265091/the-amazing-jin-of-brushfireartshenanigans-drew-my)


	34. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and the Arishok duel to the death.

“All right” said Hawke, lifting her chin. “Let’s dance.” 

The Arishok nodded his head, in acknowledgement or approval, she wasn’t quite certain which. “ _Maravaas_!” He shouted. “So shall it be.” 

The Qunari immediately began clearing the nobles from the center of the room and onto the stairs by the throne, clearing a space for the fight. 

Anabel took a deep breath and turned to face her friends.

“You can’t do this. Not to save me.” Isabela said frantically.

To her surprise Hawke just grinned at her. “Someone’s got a mighty big opinion of themselves.” She teased. “Who says I’m doing it for you? I’m far more ambitious. I’m trying to save the whole city.”

Isabela made a frustrated sound and looked away.

Hawke reached out, putting her hand on the side of Isabela’s face, so she was forced to look at her. “But if it saved only you, Izzy, it would be worth it.” Before the pirate could respond she’d let her hand drop and was smiling at Varric. 

“You sure about this, Hawke?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

“Not you too?” She said, sounding disappointed. “How am I supposed to become legend if I don’t take advantage of opportunities like this?” 

“Lie?” He suggested.

She laughed. “Too easy.” Her smile faltered, just a little. “I’ve got some favors to ask you.”

“Whatever you want, Hawke.”

She stepped closer to him, her voice low. “If something happens…” she began.

“Hawke…” 

She cut him off. “If something happens I’m counting on you to take care of the others. Make sure Merrill goes out into the sunshine every so often. Don’t let Fenris sit brooding in his mansion. And tell Anders…” She caught her lip between her teeth. She wished she hadn’t been fighting with him the last time they’d spoken. “Don’t tell him anything, just give him some jam.” She finally said. “He’ll know what it means. And if this goes as horribly as the expression on your face seems to imply it might, then promise me you’ll name your next crossbow after me. You know. Just so no one forgets.” She tried to smile, but this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes and Varric caught a just a glimpse of how scared she really was.

For a moment he couldn’t speak. “Sure thing, Hawke.” He finally managed to get out. 

She turned to Fenris who was standing by Sebastian. Before she could say anything he was already speaking. 

“Keep him in the open. Don’t let him get you against the wall, or in a corner. Tire him out before you try for a killing blow.” 

She nodded. “Yes.”

“There are no rules in a fight like this. Do anything necessary to win.”

“I intend to.” She smiled at him. “I found some Agreggio for you. It’s in my cellar. Bodahn knows where. I was going to save it for a solstice present, but screw that. We’ll open a bottle and drink a toast to fighting dirty when I’m finished here. Sound good?” 

_Bodahn knows where_. Just in case she wasn’t there to give it to him. Fenris’ expression didn’t change but she saw the muscle of his jaw clench before he replied in an even tone, “It sounds like a fine evening.”

That left Sebastian. She closed her eyes briefly, praying for strength and then turned to face him, dimly aware of Fenris and the others moving away to give them some privacy.

“Don’t do this.” He knew it was a futile plea.

“You know I have to.” She said quietly. “My doing this gets the Qunari out of Kirkwall and keeps the most people from harm.” 

“I know that. I hate it but I know it.” He wanted to say a thousand things to her.

She was looking at him as if she were attempting to memorize him. He reached out his hand to touch her face, and to his surprise she took a small step back, shaking her head. 

“No. I want to touch you and kiss and feel your arms around me but if I do I won’t be able to do this.” She confessed quietly. “I’m going do everything I can to win this fight. Not to save Isabela, or the city, but for purely selfish reasons: I don’t want to leave you.” 

“Anabel.” He said hoarsely.

She ignored him and kept on speaking. “If the worst does happen, just know that I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” Before he could say anything in response, she’d turned and walked resolutely away from them all, testing the weight of her daggers, swinging her arms in circles as she strolled almost casually to the center of the room. 

At a barked command from the Arishok, his soldiers move to circle the perimeter of what Sebastian could now only think of as an arena. He took an involuntary step forwards and only Fenris’ hand on his arm held him back.

“Fenris.” He pleaded. His fear seemed to be an almost physical thing, crushing him from the inside.

“Sebastian, trust her to know what she can do.” Fenris saw the near terror in his friend’s eyes. “Sebastian.” He said sharply. “What was the first thing you noticed about her when you first saw her fight?”

Sebastian’s eyes went back to Anabel just in time to see the Arishok walk into the cleared space. The difference in size between them was ridiculous. Her shoulder barely came to his waist. There was no way she could survive this. “I don’t know.” He told Fenris. There had to be something he could do to stop it. Some way to keep from having to watch her be slaughtered before him.

Fenris stepped in front of him, blocking his view and repeated his question. “What was the first thing you noticed about her fighting?”

Sebastian forced himself to think back to that fight. The Wounded Coast. Fighting Tal Vashoth. “She’s fast.” He said. She’d killed them easily, and come out with not a scratch on her. He wondered if Fenris had purposely chosen to remind him of that battle. To remind him that she had fought Qunari before and triumphed. He felt the panic recede just a little.

Fenris nodded. “She is faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. This is the edge she needs in this battle. The Arishok is powerful and skilled, yes, but slow. If she can stay out of his path, and we both know she is capable of that, if she can tire him out, she can defeat him.”

Can, not will. Sebastian tried to force himself to be calm, but even the prayers to Andraste that he’d recited every day for twelve years were gone from his head. He could only repeat over and over again, _please, please Andraste, let her survive this_.

And then with a shout, the fight began.

Anabel evaded the Arishok’s first attacks, using his size against him, flipping over him and even flipping off of him at one point when he tried to charge her. She struck him several times with her daggers, drawing blood, but not hitting any vital points.

He charged her again and this time she moved a fraction too slowly and was slammed into a pillar. She staggered to her feet, blood pouring from her nose and had to reach out a hand to brace herself for a moment. The Arishok moved, sweeping with his brutal sword, and that might have been the end of it if Boy hadn’t torn himself free of Varric’s grasp and lunged at the Arishok, sinking his teeth into the Qunari leader’s hand. The Arishok roared and grabbing Boy by the scruff of his neck threw him out of the way and this time Fenris grabbed hold of him knowing that the Arishok would not hesitate to kill the dog if he interfered again. But Boy’s action had given Anabel the time she needed to recover, and Sebastian silently thanked Andraste for whatever whim had made Anabel decide to bring the animal along.

Before the Arishok had time to turn back to her, Anabel had launched herself at him, plunging both daggers into his back. He roared with pain and catching her with one arm, hurled her to the floor in much the same way he had just thrown the mabari, knocking the breath from her. 

Sebastian watched in horror as The Arishok stalked over to where she was scrambling to get to her feet. For a moment he thought it was over. All the Arishok needed to do was bring his sword down and she would be dead, but instead he brought his booted foot down on her hand as she reached frantically for the dagger she had dropped. There was the sickening crunch of snapping bones and she screamed in pain, something Sebastian had never heard her do. 

He didn’t even realize he had moved forward until the Sten in front of him pushed him roughly back. 

“You will not interfere, _bas_.” The Sten warned him.

He heard Fenris curse and he looked past the Sten to see that Anabel was only using one dagger. The other lay on the ground, the blade snapped in two. She probably couldn’t have held it anyway. His hands curved into fists at his sides. 

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t win. Not with just one dagger. 

She and the Arishok were circling each other now. The side of her face was starting to swell from where it had hit the column. Her right eye had swollen almost shut and Sebastian realized she probably couldn’t see out of it.

The Arishok swung his sword at her and she spun away from it, twirling, seeming to almost to dance against the edge of the blade. She ducked under his arm and danced back. 

The Arishok moved forward, tried to lift his blade and faltered, looking with surprise at the dagger embedded to the hilt under his ribcage. 

She’d tried for his heart, and while she’d obviously wounded him badly it wasn’t a mortal blow. He yanked the blade out and threw it to the side. He bent forward, one hand pressed against the wound. Sebastian saw blood seeping between his fingers but he knew it wouldn’t be enough, not enough to stop him.

Anabel was unarmed now. Unarmed, with a broken hand and unable to see out of one eye.

Sebastian couldn’t breathe. He saw her look to where her dagger lay, and she bit her lip taking a hesitant step towards it. _Run_ , he thought, _it’s your only chance. Oh sweet Andraste, run, please_.

But instead of running for her dagger, she abruptly changed direction and charged straight towards the Arishok, leaping at him before he’d even had the chance to straighten up, using his bent leg as a step to launch herself up. She landed half on his shoulder, and Sebastian saw her reach her hand inside her boot, and pull out the jeweled stiletto she kept there. The Arishok reached up with his free hand trying to drag her off, but before he could she’d hooked her left arm around one of his horns and yanked his head back, the movement so fast and unexpected that he didn’t have a chance to resist it before she’d dragged the blade viciously across throat. Blood sprayed gruesomely from the artery she’d slashed. The Arishok staggered to his knees and she rolled almost gracefully off of him as he fell. She spun around to face him, and froze there crouched in front of him, breathing heavily the blade held out straight, ready to charge at him again if she needed to.

The Arishok’s hand was pressed to his throat, trying futilely to stop the blood pouring out from between his fingers. He met Hawke’s eyes. “We shall return.” He promised, choking on his own blood. He collapsed and didn’t move again.

And just like that, it was over.

Hawke straightened up, keeping the blade held at the ready, watching warily as the Sten who had been given the Tome of Koslun walked towards her. He paused by the Arishok’s body and then looked at her and inclined his head before signaling to the rest of the Qunari. Without a word or another look at their fallen leader, they silently left the throne room.

Anabel dropped the dagger to the floor as the others rushed to her side. Sebastian reached her first, cupping her face in his hands, looking carefully at her. The whole right side of her face was swelling and rapidly turning purple, her eye was swollen shut. Blood was still trickling from her nose. She was cradling her injured hand, and both of her hands were covered in the Arishok’s blood.

She looked up at him, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable. “I don’t ever want to do that again, all right?” She asked, her voice breaking. 

He couldn’t help laughing. “I promise. Never again.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and then ever so carefully, the bruise on the side of her face. “Yours.” He whispered, wondering how in just the space of a few weeks he had gone from ‘mine’ to ‘yours’

He saw tears come to her eyes. “Yours.” She repeated back to him.

He pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped first the tears, and then the blood from beneath her nose. He reached down and took her uninjured hand in his and cleaned it off as best he could without water. Boy came over and nudged her softly, and licked her other hand, whining softly.

“It’s okay, Boy.” She said in a soothing voice. She smiled at the others, letting herself lean against Sebastian as he turned his attention to her injured hand, lifting it carefully. He could tell at least three fingers were broken and from the swelling, probably several bones in the hand herself. He wiped the worst of the blood off of it. She looked over at her friends.

Fenris was actually smiling at her. A genuine grin.

“I fought dirty.” She said.

“You fought brilliantly.” He corrected.

“No one’s going to believe this one Hawke. No one.” Varric sounded thrilled by the challenge. 

“Throw in a few dragons.” She said with a tired laugh. “It’ll make it more plausible.” She looked at Isabela who was standing just behind Varric. She looked more shaken than Hawke had ever seen her. She tried to give her a reassuring smile but the pirate just looked away. 

The nobles were weeping and hugging each other now, unable to believe the reprieve they’d been given. They started to move down the stairs. Some stopped to stare uneasily at the Arishok’s body, some to curse it and some to spit on it.

Anabel turned away from the scene moving closer to Sebastian, resting her head against his chest and closing her eyes. He noticed she had her uninjured hand pressed against her side and wondered if she had broken a rib as well. He put his arm around her, as much to feel that she was there, injured, yes, but alive, as to support her, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He barely noticed anyone else. 

The doors to the throne room were flung open and Meredith and Orsino rushed in, surrounded by Templars, with Aveline and the Guard following close behind.

Anabel immediately straightened up and moved away from Sebastian, dropping her hand from her side. Except for the bruise on her face you wouldn’t have known she was injured at all.

Meredith stared at the body of the Arishok, and then at Hawke in disbelief, taking in the girl’s injuries. “Is it over?” She asked, her surprise plain. Sebastian could swear she sounded disappointed.

“It’s over.” Said Hawke firmly.

Those icy blue eyes stared at her. “Well,” said Meredith eventually. ”It seems Kirkwall has a new champion.” Her voice was as cold as her gaze.

The nobles and the guardsmen broke into cheers. “The Champion of Kirkwall!” Someone shouted, and others took up the cry. Hawke looked up at Sebastian and couldn’t help a small smile. 

Meredith’s eyes narrowed. She turned and barked orders to the Templars with her. 

Aveline came running up to them, Donnic close beside her, demanding to know what had happened.

“Varric can tell the story. He’ll make it much more exciting.” Hawke said with a weary smile, looking at the doors. Sebastian followed her gaze. Isabela had moved away from them, and was standing there watching them, but not coming any nearer. Varric began his tale. 

Anabel looked up at Sebastian. “I’ll be right back.” She said, and walked slowly over to Isabela. 

Sebastian watched her with a frown. She still had her hand pressed to her side and she was moving stiffly, obviously in pain. She needed a healer. He glanced over at Orsino, trying to remember if he had healing skills. He was about to go to him and ask, when he heard Isabela say loudly, “You’re reading too much into it!” He turned to see Anabel put her hand on Isabela’s arm and Isabel shrug it off and stalk out of the throne room. 

”Isabela!” Anabel called after her. She rested her head on the doors, her hand still pressed to her side. 

She looked far too pale, Sebastian realized. Abandoning his plan to speak to Orsino he crossed quickly to her side. Her pallor was even more noticeable up close and he realized she was using the door to hold herself upright. 

His brow creased in worry. “You need a healer.”

“Yes.” She said faintly. 

The fact that she admitted it so readily was more alarming than anything else. “Is it your ribs?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Do you remember when I spun away from the Arishok’s blade? I don’t think I was fast enough.” She sounded almost apologetic. She took her hand away from her side and held it up to him. It was covered in bright red blood. Fresh blood. She suddenly sagged against him, her small hand leaving a streak of scarlet against the white of his armor. He automatically reached to keep her from collapsing to the ground and his right hand slid along leather that was slick and slippery.He looked down to see his own hand covered in blood. This close to her he could see the darker stain on her black leather armor that seemed to cover most of her side. He looked up and caught Fenris’ eye. 

Fenris frowned at Sebastian’s panicked expression and then he saw the bloody streak down the front of Sebastian’s white armor, and ran to them.

“We need a healer.” Said Sebastian urgently. “Get Orsino.”

“No!” said Hawke.

Sebastian looked down at her. He hadn’t been certain she was even conscious. 

Her voice was faint, but insistent. “Not Orsino.” She said through pale lips. “I don’t want Meredith to know I’m hurt. She’s going to take any opportunity to try and put herself in power. Get Varric and get me home. If we run into anyone he can distract them. Someone can go through the basement to get Anders. Aveline can cover for us here.” 

Fenris nodded and walked quickly back to Varric and Aveline. He whispered to them in hushed tones and though Aveline seemed to protest she moved to cover their exit. 

Fenris and Sebastian supported her between them and Varric went ahead make sure the path was clear. Anabel managed to remain conscious long enough to make it down the first flight of stairs, and then without a sound she just crumpled. Sebastian cursed and swung her up into his arms.

It took precious minutes before Bodahn answered their frantic knocks. Sebastian pushed past him, Hawke held close, ignoring the dwarf’s questions. He carried her up the stairs and placed her on the bed and began unfastening her leather jerkin.

He heard Fenris giving orders to Bodahn and Sandal. “We need bandages, towels, hot water, have Orana bring them up. See what potions Hawke has left in the house.”

He appeared beside him a moment later at Sebastian’s side. “Varric has gone to get the mage. How can I help?”

“Once I’ve got this unfastened I’m going to lift her up. Slide the jacket off, but be careful of her hand.” He opened the last buckle as he spoke and pushed it open. As soon as he parted it he realized with horror that the leather, the under padding and her shirt were soaked through with blood. Dear Maker, how much blood had she lost? 

He carefully lifted her as Fenris slowly worked the sleeve past her broken hand and removed it. Carefully Sebastian lowered her back on the bed, and lifted the side of her shirt, getting his first good look at the wound, 

“Sweet Andraste.” He whispered hoarsely, as Fenris let out a curse in Tevene.

The gash went fully around the curve of her waist, a wide gaping diagonal wound, still sluggishly oozing blood. Orana entered the room with a pile of towels and sheets and cried out at the sight of it. Fenris grabbed some towels and they carefully wrapped one around her waist. Anabel gave a pitiful moan as they applied pressure in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

“How was she even still standing after that?” Sebastian asked. 

“Sheer stubbornness, I have no doubt.” Said Fenris grimly.

They waited in silence for Varric to return with Anders. Sandal brought hot water, and Bodahn, Hawke’s potion box. Sebastian cleaned the blood from her face and hands, and Fenris carefully removed her boots. Sebastian noticed blood beginning to seep through the towel that they had wrapped around the wound. Where in the void was Anders? 

He’d no sooner thought it when they heard footsteps running up the stairs, and Anders rushed through the door, literally pushing Fenris out of the way. His face darkened as he looked at Hawke’s bruised face, and the bloody towel at her waist. “Tell me what happened.” He said rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands in the basin by the bed.

Sebatian quickly moved out of the way. “The Arishok’s blade. The edge caught her when she spun away from it. She didn’t say anything.” He said helplessly.

“Of course she bloody well didn’t. She never says anything when she’s hurt.” Anders said. In spite of the anger in his voice, his hands were gentle as he sat on the bed and lifted the towel. He blanched at the sight of the wound. “What was she trying to do, cut herself in half?” He dipped a clean towel into the water, and wiped away the blood. Cleaned up the wound looked even worse. 

Anders glared up at Fenris. “And where the hell were you? I thought you were supposed to fight together.” 

For just a moment Fenris looked stricken before he quickly he scowled at the mage. 

“She dueled the Arishok. Single combat.” Said Sebastian.

Anders stared at him open mouthed for a moment. “Of course she did.” He muttered turning back to her. “I suppose that was her idea?” He didn’t wait for them to answer. “Help me turn her to her side.” 

Anabel moaned as they shifted her. “Hush sweetheart. It’ll be better soon.” He soothed, stroking her hair away from her face. His face darkened as he saw how far the wound extended; all the way around her waist to the very edge of Isabela’s now faded henna tattoo. “Did any of you even attempt to talk her out of it?” 

Varric answered him from the doorway. “The Arishok was going to take Isabela. He offered to duel Hawke. No matter who won the Qunari agreed to leave the city. It was either a duel or an all-out battle with the Arishok and the elite guard of the Qunari against the four of us and a bunch of mewling unarmed nobles. You think you could have stopped her from making that decision, Blondie?” Varric sounded angrier than any of them remembered hearing him.

Anders just scowled. He put his hands around the wound and they pulsed with pale blue light. He frowned and moved a hand to the opposite side. “Shit.” He muttered. He moved his hands to her rib cage, and then to the bruise on her face, each time sending out a pulse of his magic. 

The light faded and he glared up at them. “What did he do, step on her?” 

Sebastian couldn’t answer, suddenly hearing that scream again.

“He knocked her into a marble pillar. Like she was a rag doll.” Said Varric grimly. “The stepping on her came later in the fight. That’s when the hand happened.”

Hand? Anders looked quickly down. “Shit.” He’d been so focused on her other injuries, so alarmed by the almost flickering feel of that glow she always had that he hadn’t even noticed her hand. He lifted it carefully, and let his magic flare. Three fingers broken, two at the knuckle, one just snapped like a twig. He focused on the hand itself and actually lost count as he tried to keep track of how many bones were broken. He looked up at the others. “Please tell me the bastard is dead.”

“She made sure of it. Climbed him like a tree and slit his throat.” Varric assured him.

“Good.” Anders said vehemently.

Sebastian was look down at Anabel. “How bad is it?” He asked. 

Anders had been going to say something scathing about Sebastian’s keeping her out of harm’s way if he wanted her uninjured, but seeing the man’s expression he couldn’t. He knew Hawke, knew how impossible it would have been to talk her out of this duel. Sebastian had had to stand there and watch it happen. For the first time in months he didn’t envy the man. “It could be worse.” He said. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but her bowels and kidney are uninjured. She has four broken ribs but her lungs are fine. Her cheekbone is cracked, but if it had been her eye socket she could have lost her eye, or lost her sight in that eye.” He unbuckled his coat and shrugged out of it as he spoke. “Almost every injury could have been much worse. I can heal the injuries she has. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad?” asked Fenris.

“The blood loss. She’s weaker than I’d like from that. There’s a risk of infection. Her hand is badly damaged. I’ll try, but with that many broken bones ‘as good as new’ might not be possible. And she’s going to have a bad scar from the sword wound. There’s nothing I can do about that.” 

Sebastian brushed it aside. “That’s unimportant.”

Anders nodded his head. “Agreed.” He opened Hawke’s potion box and cursed. “I’m going to need more. Lyrium, and healing potions.” 

“Didn’t you bring potions with you?” Sebastian asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“The Undercity is flooded with people from Lowtown fleeing the Qunari, Brother Sebastian. A lot of them are injured and what potions I had went rather quickly. Whatever there was, I left for my helpers in the clinic so they could keep working while I came here.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian started to say. 

“Sorry so many were injured, or that you implied I was incompetent enough to come to heal someone and not bring any potions? She usually keeps a stock of them on hand.” 

“For both, actually.” Sebastian said quietly. “Anabel’s stock is low because we stopped by earlier and replenished our supply before we went to the Keep.” 

The man sounded so genuine that Anders ended up feeling like a petulant child who’d had a tantrum. He looked down at Hawke. “I’ve been healing most of the night. I don’t know if…” If he had to choose, which injury would he heal? The gaping wound in her side, obviously. Would he be able to heal her ribs as well? He didn’t think he had enough mana to do both at this point, not without more potions. He turned to Varric. “Varric, have you got any sources?”

“I’d have to go to Lowtown.” 

Anders shook his head. “Too far.”

Sebastian lifted his head. “I can go to the Chantry.“

Anders gave him a scornful look. “It’s a lovely thought but I need more than prayer here.”

“They keep a lyrium supply for the Templars.” Sebastian explained. “And the infirmary is fully stocked with potions of all sorts.”

Understanding flashed across Anders face. “Go. Bring back as many as you can.” 

Casting one last look at Anabel, Sebastian turned and ran from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pictures and pose references, as well as various Dragon Age related ramblings are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	35. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders, Sebastian and the others deal with Hawke's injuries and the aftermath of the Qunari invasion.

Anabel felt the warm glow of healing magic along her waist and the searing pain slowly lessened. She tried to open her eyes but they didn’t seem to be working very well. She could make out Anders sitting beside her on the bed, and the soft blue light emanating from his hands which he had pressed firmly against her waist. Every inch of her seemed to be throbbing with pain, to the extent that she couldn’t quite tell what was injured and what wasn’t. She tried to concentrate, tried to remember what had happened.

She wasn’t dead.

That seemed surprising.

The details of how she’d managed that were fuzzy. She looked at Anders again and saw he was scowling while he healed her. That was never a good sign. She should let him know she was awake. Her injuries couldn't be so bad if she was awake, right? It took a couple of attempts before she could actually speak. 

“Hi.” She was alarmed at how weak her voice sounded.

His mouth tightened into a thin line and he didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not even talking to you.” He informed her. 

He’d gotten increasingly irate as he’d healed the wound. His time with the wardens in Amaranthine had exposed him to a whole different set of healing skills. He’d become quite adept at telling what sort of weapons had caused the wounds he healed. The sword responsible for Hawke’s wound had been massive, probably bigger than she was. A sensible person would have taken one look at a weapon of that size and fled. Hawke had decided one on one combat was a better idea, not with a sword and shield, oh no, that would make it too easy. She had to go up against the bastard with nothing but her daggers. He wondered what it would actually take for her to realize that she wasn’t invincible or invulnerable or indestructible. 

“Oh.” Just that exchange had taken all her energy and she closed her eyes again. Anders seemed angrier now than he had the other night, and she couldn’t understand why. She’d done something to fix that, hadn’t she? _Jam_. “You’re not supposed to be angry.” She mumbled. “Varric has the jam.” 

Anders looked at Varric in confusion.

“If anything happened to her she wanted me to give you jam. She said you’d know what it meant.”

Anders glanced down at her. _Shit_. She hadn’t thought she was invulnerable, not this time. She’d gone into the fight thinking she wouldn’t survive it. Planning for it.

Varric was watching him. “You think that’s bad, I had to promise to name my next crossbow after her.”

Anders had a brief flash of a future where the fight had gone differently, a future where Varric made witty comments to a crossbow called Hawke, and the thought of it left him feeling hollow. “Shit.”

“S’ bad luck to swear while your healing someone.” Hawke muttered. 

Anders couldn’t help smiling. “Stop making things up.” He told her.

“It’s true.” She insisted. Slowly things were coming back to her. The Qunari. Isabela’s return. The duel. The memories had a vague feel to them, like she’d dreamed it or made it up, but her thoughts were getting clearer and she wasn’t drifting in and out the way she had been when she’d first woken up, but Maker, everything hurt. Her face and hand were throbbing, her side ached. Even breathing hurt, a lot, and she felt as weak as a newborn kitten. She heard the sound of glass clinking and tried to open her eyes again to see what it was. Everything seemed distorted, and her field of vision was off. “Why can’t I see properly?” She asked trying not to sound panicked.

“You fractured your cheekbone. One eye is swollen shut.”

That would explain it. She lay there trying not to move. 

“You scared the crap out of us Hawke.” Said Varric. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I dueled the Arishok in single combat.” She joked weakly. There was no response. She tilted her head so she could see them out of her uninjured eye. Not even Varric was smiling, and Anders and Fenris wore almost identical scowls. She tried to smile at them, and let out a hissed breath as white hot pain shot through the side of her face. “Fuck.” She muttered faintly when she could breathe again.

“Fenris, help me get her sitting up so I can bandage this.” Said Anders. As careful as they were, she couldn’t help crying out when they lifted her up. 

“Hurts, yes?” Said Anders, knowing full well how much pain she must be in for her to make any sound at all. His tone was almost conversational as he carefully wrapped the bandage around her waist. “That would be the broken ribs I’ve yet to heal. You did quite a number on yourself, Hawke. Broken ribs, a cracked cheekbone, a broken hand, and oh yes, the slice taken out of your torso. Well done.”

She stared at him trying to read his mood, but for once she was stumped. “I can’t take all the credit. The Arishok helped.” 

She thought she saw the muscle in his cheek tighten, but all he said was. “Pile some of the pillows behind her, would you Varric, so we can prop her up a bit.” 

Varric rearranged the pillows, and Anders and Fenris carefully lowered her back against them. She automatically reached for the bandage around her waist and Anders slapped her hand away. 

“Don’t touch that.” He ordered as he placed the remaining bandages on the table. 

“Cranky bastard.” She muttered under her breath. She regretted the comment as soon as she saw his expression when he turned to face her. 

“Yes, well this cranky bastard is going to be the one draining himself putting you back together again, so do me a favor: the next time you’re tempted to take on someone on in single combat who is twice your size, more than three times your weight and who’s got great big horns show half the sense the Maker gave a goose and just don’t.” He was shouting by the end of the speech and Anabel was staring at him open mouthed with surprise.

She recognized the mood now. Worried and scared, with a covering of seriously pissed off. She hadn’t seen it in years, not since that time she’d managed to get herself stabbed and poisoned and knocked unconscious all at the same time. She’d woken up in his clinic and had been subjected to a twenty minute tirade about the word mortality, and why she should remember the meaning of it.

“It wasn’t intentional.” She said, looking up at him with what she hoped was a penitent expression.

He just uncorked one of the remaining healing potions and held it out to her. “Drink this.” He ordered.

Afraid to cross him when he was in this mood she obediently drank from the vial he held to her lips and grimaced at the bitter aftertaste. 

“Yes, nasty isn’t it.” He said with no small satisfaction. 

Some of the pain receded as she leaned her head back against the pillows. “I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking to me.” She teased.

She was joking with him? After pulling a stunt like this? He shook his head in disbelief as he placed the empty bottle on the bedside table. He had one more lyrium potion. Did he want to take it before he tried to fix her ribs and hope Sebastian would be able to bring back lyrium from the Chantry?

As if she’d heard his thoughts Hawke looked around the room with a puzzled expression. “Where’s Sebastian?” She asked Fenris.

“He’s gone to see if he can wheedle some potions from the Grand Cleric.” Anders said before Fenris could reply. He decided to save the potion and hope he had enough mana left. “I need to fix your ribs.” 

“How many did I break?” She asked apprehensively as he sat down on the bed beside her, being careful not to jostle her.

“Four.” He answered, putting his arms around her and pulling her closer so her head rested on his shoulder. “That’s a record for you. Congratulations.”

She wound her uninjured hand into his shirt. “Thanks. It wasn’t achieved without effort.”

He hid his smile as he ran his hand over her bright curls. “Ready?” He asked.

She hid her face in his neck and nodded. Her breath hissed in as the bones moved and knitted together and her hand twisted into a fist on his shirt front. He tried to move as quickly as he could, shifting his hands down her ribcage. He could feel her breathing become easier as he worked, and slowly her hand relaxed against his chest. When he had finished he eased her back against the pillows and looked at her. A few tears were trickling down her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

His stern expression softened as he looked down at her bruised face. He wiped the tears away, and leaning in pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.

“You’re an idiot” he said, his mouth still against her brow. “But I hear you saved this cesspool of a city, so I suppose we’ll let it go this time.” He kissed her again and then pulled away. “Will you answer me if I ask you what the Void you were thinking?” 

“Don’t let the grumpy horned giant take Isabela away?” She suggested hopefully. 

He just snorted. 

“Leave her be, mage.” Fenris was standing at the foot of the bed. “She fought bravely.” He said looking at her proudly. “You were magnificent. I was honored to fight at your side.” 

“Oh, yes, I might have known you would encourage this lunacy.” Anders moved to the night table, and had to brace himself for a moment. His head was pounding. He had drained himself more than he should have. He stared at the last lyrium potion as Varric moved next to him.

“You doing okay, Blondie?” He asked watching him carefully. 

“I need more lyrium and I’m not as optimistic as Vael is about the Chantry’s willingness to share.”

“I’ll head down to Lowtown; see what I can scrape together.” Said Varric. He walked to the fireplace and picked up Bianca. “Hawke, I’m going to check on Merrill and see if the looters have left anything in The Hanged Man. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try not to thwart any other invasions until I get back.” 

She laughed and then winced at the pain it caused. “No promises.” She said. “Bring Merrill back here. Things are bound to be a little unsettled in the Alienage right now. And bring Isabela too.” She just hoped Isabela hadn’t run off again. 

“Will do, Hawke.” Varric said, and walked out.

Anders was still staring at the last lyrium potion. Before he could debate about it any longer, he quickly uncorked it and drank it down. He turned to see Hawke frowning at the empty bottles that lay on the table.

“How long was I out?” She asked looking up at him.

“Long enough.” Said Anders. He sat down beside her again, placing his hand on her cheek.

She could feel the swelling go down, and with it the dull throbbing ache and then she blinked, suddenly able to see properly again. She smiled in relief and it barely hurt at all, and that made the smile deepen.

Anders couldn’t help smiling back as her dimple made an appearance. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “There you are. A little more bruised than I like to see you, but recognizable at least.” He reached down and took her injured hand in his, letting his magic flow through it, hoping that he’d been wrong about just how bad it was. He hadn’t been. 

She’d been watching him carefully. “It’s going to hurt like the Void, isn’t it?”

“There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand. You’ve broken more than half.”

He saw her swallow hard. “So that would be a yes then?”

“Yes. Kudos to the Arishok for being thorough.”

“He doesn’t get all the credit. I broke one before we even made it to the throne room. Qunari have horns, did you know?”

“I’d heard something about it.”

“I forgot in all the fuss. Misjudged the distance and caught my finger on one as I turned. It was stupid.”

“So you started out the fight with a broken finger.” He pointed out.

She started to say that it was only the little finger on her non-dominant hand, that it wasn’t that important, but then she remembered dropping her dagger and having to reach for it. That was when the Arishok had stepped on her hand, crushing it. “When you say it like that it doesn’t sound like the best of plans.” She admitted.

He considered lecturing her again, but healing all those broken bones would be lecture enough. Maker he hated hurting her. “The good news is that I can fix it, hopefully well enough that you’ll have full use of it, but it’s not going to be quick and yes it will hurt. But I want to do this right, not fast.” 

She bit her lip. “I trust you.” She said.

He shook his head. Of course she trusted him. She trusted everyone. That’s how she ended up like this. “I want to wait a little while, see what your boyfriend manages to pilfer from the Chantry.” 

She ignored the comment about Sebastian and leaned her head back against the pillows. “Why do I feel so feeble?” She asked. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this after a battle. Exhausted, yes, but not like this.

“Blood loss.” He said simply. “Are you cold?”

She nodded. He wondered if she would have mentioned it if he hadn’t asked. He reached down and pulled up the comforter that had been shoved to the bottom of the bed and tucked it around her. “Better?” He asked.

“Much.” 

He started to get up. 

“Anders?” She said in a small voice and he turned back with a questioning look.

“Right before the duel started…” Her voice trailed off. “I hated that our last conversation would have been an argument. I hated that I’d left it like that. That I might not get the chance …” She felt her eyes fill with tears, and laughed at her own weepiness. “Sorry. Feeble. I did mention it.” She looked up at him, and even with the trace of bruises on her face, even being far paler than she should be, she still took his breath away. “I’m glad I got to see you again. I’m glad…”

He put his fingers on her lips cutting her off, trying to process how he would have felt if she had been killed; if his last words to her had been his taunt that Sebastian would never marry her. “Hawke…” He started to say, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Hawke peered over his shoulder and her whole face lit up. Anders didn’t have to look to know that Sebastian had returned. Without another word he let his hand fall and stood up moving to the bedside table again, busying himself needlessly with the empty potion bottles. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sebastian kneel by the bed.

“You’re awake. Thank the Maker.” Said Sebastian with relief. He heard Anders let out a soft snort, which he ignored. “You had me scared.”

“Is Elthina all right? And all the others?” She asked anxiously. His smile gave her her answer.

Anabel Hawke. She fought her way through half the city, battled the Arishok himself, and lying there, battered and bruised and bleeding, she worried about everyone but herself. He rose from the floor and sat carefully on the bed beside her, and gently stroked the side of her face. She leaned into his touch. “She’s fine, everyone’s fine. They barricaded themselves in the cellars and Knight-Captain Cullen and his Templars kept them safe. She sends you her blessing, and these.” He reached down and picked up the leather satchel he’d been carrying and handed it to Anders.

Anders took it, surprised by the weight of it, and looked inside; it was filled to overflowing with lyrium potions and healing potions of every sort. His eyebrows rose at the generosity. “The Templars must have been thrilled to hand these over for an apostate’s use.” He said with a smirk.

Hawke gave him an admonishing frown and Anders rolled his eyes. “Please thank her Grace.” He said with exaggerated politeness.

Sebastian gave him a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Anabel. “You look much better.” But she was still far too pale and she looked utterly exhausted. He looked at the bandage around her waist and the blood stains on the breastband she wore and frowned, the picture of how she had looked lying there, covered in her own blood fresh in his mind.

“I have a good healer.” She said, giving Anders a smile. She saw Sebastian’s frown and mistook the cause. “Can I put something on, Anders? I’m still cold.”

Anders barely looked up from sorting through the potions. “Something loose, in case I need to change your bandage.” 

Her eyes went back to Sebastian. “I have some of Carver’s old shirts in the wardrobe by the desk. Could you bring one?” 

He did as she asked and helped her slip the shirt on, easing it carefully over her injured hand.

Anders pulled the last potion from the bag and his eyes lit up. He hadn’t seen one of these since Kinloch Hold. He opened the bottle and sniffed just to be sure, and a smile spread across his face. “Oh Hawke, you owe her Grace a special thank you for this one.” He moved to her side. “Excuse me, your Highness.” He said to Sebastian. 

The man always managed to make it sound like an insult. Sebastian climbed off the bed moving to join Fenris at the foot. 

Anders held out what looked like a healing potion but it seemed to be glowing with an almost orange light. “Drink this.” 

She obediently swallowed and instantly the world went a little out of focus. She blinked trying to clear her vision. “Wow.” Her voice sounded oddly far away. She turned her head to look at Anders and everything seemed to follow more slowly. Colors suddenly seemed richer and brighter. She blinked again, looking around the room. 

Sebastian was watching her with a concerned frown. The blue of his eyes was so bright it almost hurt to look at. “Your eyes are so blue.” She heard herself say. “What the Void did I just drink?” She asked Anders.

“It’s a rather potent healing potion. It has a few extras in it.” He explained with a smile. “You may feel a little loopy, but you shouldn’t feel a thing when I heal your hand.” 

“Right now I’m not sure I’d care if I did feel anything.” She commented. Everything around her seemed to be flowing as if they were underwater. “Loopy, huh?”

“That’s the technical term.” He said with a teasing smile. He was having trouble believing just what a bounty Sebastian had brought back. He wondered who had chosen them. If he had been asked to make a list of the potions he wanted for Hawke it couldn’t have been a more perfect selection.

“That’s a good word for it.” Said Hawke. “Loopy. Loopy. Loooopy.” It was kind of fun to say. “Looopy.” She said trying it again. She looked toward the foot of the bed and her eyes focused on Fenris. He was frowning at her. “It’s a good word, isn’t it Fenris?”

“I have not given it much thought.” He said scowling at Anders, who ignored him.

Anabel couldn’t stop looking at him. He had the whitest hair. And it seemed to be glowing. She tried to remember if it had done that before. She reached out a hand to try and touch it, and was immediately distracted by her own fingers. She wiggled them, watching them move. “Maker, that’s weird…” She said. 

“What’s weird?” Asked Anders glancing over at her with a smile.

“Fingers. They just split off from your hand and then you can move them independently from each other. Who comes up with shit like that?” She saw Sebastian and Fenris exchange a look. She must sound like a lunatic, she thought briefly, but she continued to wiggle her fingers and stare at them. Weird, she thought again.

Anders uncorked a lyrium potion and drank it. He had to put out a hand to steady himself as he felt it crash through him and he gave a small shiver. It had been a long time since he’d had lyrium that pure. Justice was rolling around like a cat in catnip. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then moved to the bed and sat next to Hawke. She was still moving her fingers, if more slowly now, apparently utterly fascinated by the sight of them.

The room was still undulating slowly. She wondered if Fenris minded the underwater feeling of it. She knew he didn’t like fish, he’d been very vocal about that, but did that mean he disliked the ocean as well? She couldn’t remember. “There aren’t any fish here, Fenris.” She said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Pardon?” Fenris asked.

“Fish. They aren’t here. You don’t have to worry.”

She sounded so earnest that Sebastian had to hide a smile. “Is this a typical reaction to the potion?” He asked. 

Anders nodded. “It has refined poppy juice in it. She’ll fall asleep soon.” He picked up her injured hand.

“I got stepped on.” She told him. “Everything went crunch.” She looked down at his hands, and took one in hers. “You have nice hands. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” She said. “And they fix things. You're so lucky. Mine just hurt things. Stabbity, stab, kill, kill.” She let go of his hand with a sigh.

Anders stared at her, startled by her words. She didn’t really think that, did she? Before he could say anything Sebastian was already speaking.

“That’s not true. Your hands protect people, Anabel. They protected all of Kirkwall tonight.”

She smiled at him. “The Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Yes.” He wondered if she knew the history of the title in the Free Marches, and what an honor it was.

She laughed at the ridiculousness of the whole thing and how annoyed Meredith had been. Anders didn’t know about that part, she remembered. “Hey.” She said, nudging him with her uninjured hand.

“Hey, yourself.” He said not bothering to look up.

“I met Knight Commander Meredith tonight.” She said it as if she were imparting a great secret.

Anders glanced up at her. “Did you?”

“I did!” She said excitedly. She looked around and gestured him closer. He leaned forward so her mouth was at his ear. “She’s a bitch. A big one.” If she’d meant to whisper it, she’d failed completely.

Anders couldn’t help laughing as he straightened up. “I’d heard that.”

Hawke leaned her head back against the pillows. “And she did not like it when I smited that _saarebas_. Not at all.” She said emphatically. Her eyes slowly closed and she missed seeing the smile vanish from his face.

“She saw you smite someone?” Anders asked her. She appeared to have finally drifted off and he turned to the others.

“We don’t think Meredith knows exactly what happened. She might suspect, but she has no proof.” Sebastian said.

“Marvelous.” Said Anders. He picked up Hawke’s hand again. 

“I killed the Arishok.” She said suddenly, her eyes flying open. She seemed startled by the realization. 

“Yes, you did.” Anders confirmed, not looking up. 

She looked sad. “Poor Arishok. I liked him. So sad and grumpy to be away from his home.” Her eyes drifted around the room as she spoke, stopping when she saw Sebastian. “I know what it’s like to be away from home.” She explained earnestly. “I’m not from Kirkwall, you know.” 

It was said in such a solemn tone that Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, I know.”

She frowned, looking at him intently. “Your eyes are so blue.” She looked confused. “Did I say that already?” Her voice sounded strange to her. Distorted somehow, and she didn’t seem to have control over it. “Am I talking too loud?” She asked.

“You’re fine, Ana.” Sebastian assured her.

A wave of exhaustion hit her and she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. “I’m tired. Why am I so tired?” She muttered.

“The potion.” Anders reminded her. “Go to sleep Hawke. Stop fighting it.”

“I have to sleep now.” She agreed. Her eyes fluttered closed, but almost immediately they opened again. She pulled her hand free from Anders’ grasp ignoring the frustrated sound he made, and looked frantically around until she found Sebastian. “You’re not going to leave again are you?” She demanded.

“I’ll be here when you wake up Ana. Let go and sleep.”

She reached out with her uninjured hand and he crossed to the opposite side of the bed and took it in his. She pulled gently, forcing him to climb up next to her. 

“Do you promise?” She whispered fighting to keep her eyes open.

“I promise.” He said stroking her hair away from her face.

She pressed her face into his side and was quickly unconscious. 

Sebastian lifted her hand and pressed it gently to his lips. When he looked up Anders was watching him, his expression unreadable. “Do you need me to get down?” He asked. “I think she’s deeply enough asleep that she won’t wake if I do.” 

Anders tried not to let his emotions show on his face. He shrugged. “You might as well stay where you are. She finds comfort in your being nearby.” He turned his attention to her injured hand to avoid any further discussion of the subject.

 

It was more than an hour before Anders had finished, and by the end he looked almost as pale and worn as Anabel, and there was a pile of empty lyrium bottles at his side. He rubbed his head, and caught the Prince watching him.

“What?” He asked suspiciously. He felt slightly off balance and his head was buzzing from the effects of the lyrium potions. He’d taken more than he should have. Many more than he should have. He’d been so drained that he’d needed to. He could only imagine the lecture his instructors at Kinnloch Hold would have given him if they had seen it.

Sebastian smiled, that serene, peaceful, supremely confident smile that always made Anders want to hit him.

“You’re a talented healer Anders.” He said. “Thank you. For all you’ve done here.” It had been fascinating watching the man work. He looked down at Anabel and brushed a curl away from her face. 

Anders scowled at the sight of the man’s hands on Hawke. “I didn’t do it for you.” He snapped. Those calm blue eyes looked up at him. 

_No,_ Sebastian thought. _You did it because you’re in love with her_.

He didn’t say anything, which made Anders feel like a petulant child who’d acted out. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. Tired.”

Sebastian just nodded, his eyes going back to Anabel. “Will she be all right, do you think?”

Anders reached for a bandage and wrapped it carefully around Hawke’s hand to keep it immobile. “She lost a lot of blood before I got here, and there’s always a chance of infection. But if we’re very lucky, then yes.” He stood up and swayed on his feet. He had to clutch at the bed post to keep his balance.

Sebastian slipped carefully away from Hawke and walked quickly around the bed to Anders’ side. “Are you all right?” 

Anders straightened up and carefully let go of the bed, trying not to show just how shaky he felt. “Too much lyrium.”

“You should rest.” Said Fenris from the chair by the desk. “I believe Bodahn and Orana have made up the bed in Leandra’s room.” 

Fenris had been so quiet Anders had forgotten he was there. He was too exhausted to even to wonder at the elf’s unprecedented civility. “I’ll sleep for a bit.” He looked down at Hawke. Did she seem flushed, or was it just that she was less pale than she had been? He reached out and touched her forehead. She felt a little warm, but only a little. He glanced at Fenris and Sebastian. “Wake me if she develops a fever.” He said, reluctant to leave her side, but knowing full well he would be of no use at all if he didn’t get some rest. “Or for anything else.” He added, and stumbled from the room.

Sebastian pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. It hadn’t been even a month since the last time he sat at her bedside like this, watching her, worrying over her. 

Fenris came and stood beside him. “You care for her.” Said Fenris.

Sebastian didn’t see any point in denying it. “More than anything.”

“She cares for you as well.” Said the elf. He looked as if he wanted to say more.

“I thought I was going to lose her today.” Sebastian said, not taking his eyes from her. He wasn’t certain he could have survived her loss. “Even now…you heard Anders. So many things could still go wrong.”

“Say what you will about the mage, he is a skilled healer. He’s hopeful of her recovery. And she’s strong.”

Sebastian gave a small laugh. “Not nearly as strong as we would have her be.” She looked anything but strong right now lying enveloped by her brother’s shirt, with her small hand bandaged and the bruises still visible on her face.

He felt Fenris’ hand on his shoulder. His eyes were sympathetic. “You should try and rest.”

There were voices from downstairs. Varric had returned with Merrill at least.

“I’ll go and tell them what has happened.” Fenris said. “Rest.” He repeated and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sebastian stared at Anabel as she lay there, deeply asleep. She looked better, he decided. There seemed to be some color in her cheeks. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

He must have dozed off, because Fenris was suddenly shaking him awake. The sky outside was beginning grow light.

“Hawke seems unwell.” Fenris told him. “I’m going to get the mage.” He left the room without saying anything more.

Sebastian was instantly awake and leaning over the bed. Anabel was flushed and tossing restlessly in the bed. He reached a hand to touch her brow. It was almost painfully hot. “Sweet Andraste, no.” 

“Sebastian?” Her eyes opened, but they were glassy and unfocused.

He hadn’t intended to say it out loud. He leaned close to her. “I’m here, Anabel.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “For a celibate priest you’re in my bedroom a lot.” 

He laughed weakly. “It seems so.” 

“I like you here.” She grasped his hand. 

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead trying to keep the worry from his face. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.” 

“But I always need you.” She said simply. Her eyes closed again.

“Anabel?” She didn’t respond. 

Fenris and Anders returned, Anders pulling on his shirt as he hurried through the door, and Sebastian quickly moved out of his way. 

The mage ignored him, putting his hand on Anabel’s forehead and then the back of her neck, before yanking back the covers and pulling up the shirt she wore. He placed his hands over the bandaged wound, sending out a pulse of healing magic. “Shit.” He muttered.

“It’s an infection?” Said Sebastian, knowing the answer, but dreading it all the same. Magical healing could do so many things, heal bone and muscle and skin, stop bleeding, but next to nothing to stop an infection. Why that should be was one of the Maker’s mysteries.

“Yes. Damn it.” Anders cursed, looking down at her. “I thought…” His voice trailed off. He’d thought she’d be all right, that they’d avoid this complication. That he didn’t have to worry any more. He looked away and ran his hands through his hair, considering his options. There weren’t many. He turned back to them. “Someone needs to go to the Gallows. Wake Orsino. Tell him what’s going on, have him send help. Another healer at least, and someone good with elemental magic."

“Why elemental magic?” asked Fenris suspiciously.

“I don’t need your distrust of magic, Fenris, not now. We need to bring her fever down. We need someone good with cold spells. If we can’t lower her temperature she could start having seizures. We need to prevent that happening. She’s frail enough right now that her body couldn’t handle it.

“You’re saying she might…” Sebastian couldn’t even finish the sentence.”

“She might die, yes.” The words seemed to hang there.

Fenris swallowed hard. “I will go.” He started to leave the room.

“Fenris, wait.” Sebastian was staring at Anabel. He didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want to risk that something might happen while he was gone. “I’ll go with you. Meredith is more likely to listen to me.” Before he could change his mind he walked out of the room, Fenris following close behind. 

 

As he had suspected, Meredith was reluctant to release the mages even to Sebastian. It took all his powers of persuasion and some very thinly veiled threats to go to Elthina and to the people of Kirkwall before she finally agreed. 

It was full daylight by the time they got back to the mansion. Orsino had insisted on coming himself, and he’d brought two other mages, both healers, an older elven woman name Rhosyn, and man about his own age called Selby. Knight Captain Cullen had been sent as an “escort”. Sebastian led them straight up to Anabel’s bedroom. 

He introduced them, pretending not to notice the brief flash of recognition in Anders’ eyes when he saw Selby. Anders spared a scowl for Cullen and then proceeded to ignore him.

Cullen simply moved to stand in the corner of the room, a spot which let him observe everything going on. Sebastian had gotten the impression that Cullen had been embarrassed by Meredith’s reluctance to send aid. When Meredith had argued that she had no Templars to spare for such a mission, that they were far too busy or too exhausted Cullen had volunteered. 

The mages began discussing Anabel’s injuries and Sebastian moved to join Varric at the foot of the bed. He spared a smile for Merrill who was sitting beside Anabel, bathing her face and neck with cool water. 

She looked no better.

“Has there been any change?” Sebastian asked Varric. 

Varric hesitated. “She had a seizure a little while ago. Blondie said it wasn’t a bad one.” He sounded doubtful.

Sebastian gave him a sharp look. “You don't agree?”

“If that wasn’t a bad one, I wouldn’t want to see one that was.” 

Sebastian watched the three mages, listened as they discussed Anabel's injuries and shared theories for dealing with infections. All of them agreed that they needed to get her fever down, and soon.

“Is there a large tub we could bring up here?” Rhosyn asked “I believe submerging her in would be easier than a sponge bath or wrapping her in wet sheets and we wouldn’t have to move her to a bathing chamber then.”

“Her bathing chamber is just through that door, Enchanter Rhosyn. I believe the bath in there would suffice.” Said Sebastian. He crossed the room to show her.

Her eyes widened as she took in the opulent room. “Goodness. And I always thought that tales of rooms such as this were exaggerated.” She crossed over to the tub. “Yes. This will do quite well. She turned on the water, sitting on the edge as it filled and looked around the room. “It must be nice to live like this. Still, Serah Hawke earned it, and she deserves it. The First Enchanter says she saved his life last night.” 

“She saved all of us.” Sebastian said.

“He said that as well. Malcolm Hawke’s daughter, saving the city.”

“You knew her father?” He asked in surprise.

“Not well. But he’s something of a legend in the Gallows, running off the way he did, and taking one of the nobility with him. He used to walk around like he owned the place. She’s very like him from what I’ve heard. Not just in looks, but the attitude as well.”

He smiled. “You’re not the first I’ve heard that from. She’d enjoy speaking with you about him, if you’d be willing.” 

“Let’s get her well first, shall we?” She said patting his arm as she walked past him and back into the bedroom. He followed her out and walked over to the bed. Merrill and Orana were tucking a second blanket around Anabel.

“She’s cold, poor thing.” Merrill said. It seemed strange to see Merrill taking care of Anabel. Usually it was the other way around. “She asked for another blanket.”

She was awake? He quickly knelt by the side of bed. Anabel was lying on her side. Merrill had tucked the cover almost up to her chin, but she was shaking. “Hello.” He said softly.

She tried to smile at him. “I’ve mucked it up this time, haven’t I?” She whispered. Her teeth were chattering. “I’m so cold.”

He reached out and touched her face. She was burning up. How could she possible have chills? “Orsino is here with more healers. They’ll take care of you.” He looked up as Rhosyn came up beside him. “This is Enchanter Rhosyn. She knew your father.”

Anabel’s eyes flickered to look at her. “You did?”

“I did. I’d like to examine you if I could Serah Hawke.”

Anabel shook her head and for a moment Sebastian thought she was refusing to be examined, but she spoke then. “Just Hawke. Not Serah.” She murmured.

Rhosyn smiled. “Very well Hawke.” She looked across the bed at Anders. “Perhaps we could clear out some of these people?”

Varric took the cue. “Come on Daisy, Fenris, let’s get something to eat. You can help us out with that, right, Orana?”

Sebastian didn’t want to leave but Rhosyn gave him a pointed look. “I’ll check back on you soon.” He said to Anabel.

He’d only made it as far as the door when he heard Rhosyn say, “Hawke?” And then in a very different tone she called. “She’s seizing!”

He turned around. Rhosyn was pulling the covers off, as Anders threw the pillows to the floor. Anabel’s whole body had gone rigid and she was convulsing. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Try to keep her still!” Anders said. “I don’t want her injury opening up again.” He had his hands on her upper arms. Selby climbed on the bed to hold her hips in place Rhosyn took her feet. They weren’t pinning her down, just trying to minimize the movement caused by the fit.

It seemed go on forever. Anders barked an order to Orsino to go and chill the water in the tub. “As soon as this stops I want to get her in that water.” 

Sebastian could only stand at the foot of the bed and watch in horror. How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? 

Finally it stopped.

Orsino had stepped back into the room. “It’s ready.” He told them.

Anders lifted Anabel in his arms without a word and carried her into the bathing chamber, followed closely by the two other healers. Sebastian started to follow them but felt a hand on his arm. It was the Knight Captain.

“Let them do their work, Brother Sebastian.” Cullen said gently. His eyes were sympathetic. “Why don’t you get something to eat? I’ll come and get you if anything changes.”

He could do nothing for her right now. “Yes. You’re right. Thank you, Knight Captain.” He said bleakly.

“Hawke’s a remarkable woman.” Cullen said. After a moment’s hesitation, he added. “I knew her cousin. They’re strong these Amell women. And stubborn. They don’t give up easily.”

“She has a cousin?” Sebastian asked looking at him. Anabel had never mentioned a cousin.

“Had. Solona Amell. She was a mage in the circle in Fereldan during the Blight. She was killed during Ulric’s uprising. She was protecting me. The girl thought she was infallible. I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled sometimes.” 

“That sounds like Anabel. It must be a family trait.” Said Sebastian. He and Cullen shared a small smile.

“I noticed the similarities the first time I met her, before I even discovered they were related. Not in appearance. Solona was tall with straight brown hair and eyes so dark they sometimes looked black.” He said. “She was a striking woman. But it’s Hawke’s personality...that fearlessness, the way she stands up to injustices she sees, and refuses to back down. That’s very much like Solona.” His eyes were distant, remembering. “She was a special woman. I didn’t think I’d see her like again.”

He’d loved her, Sebastian realized. The Templar and the mage. Like something out of a penny-dreadful but in reality a relationship doomed from the start. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said.

Cullen seemed surprised by his words. “A loss. Yes, it was a loss." He said wistfully. "There's not many who would see it as such. Thank you. I’ll keep Hawke in my prayers, Brother Sebastian. Go and get yourself something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, so you can watch out for her.”

 

By the evening Hawke was delirious. Though the bath had lowered her fever, it hadn’t eliminated it and now she seemed to be alternating between chills, where they would need to pile blankets on her and sweating so much that her clothes and the sheets had needed to be changed more than once. Her companions had been sitting by her bedside in shifts – all except Isabela, who still hadn’t turned up. 

It was the middle of the night now. Sebastian and Anders were sitting in tense silence after Anders had finally snapped at Sebastian, interrupting his prayers, asking if he could please keep his conversations with Andraste and the Maker to himself. 

And then Anabel started talking. Her words for the most part were unintelligible but the gist of the conversations was obvious. She apologized to her Mother about Quentin, and to Carver for his being tainted. When she started talking to Bethany she began sobbing. The only word Sebastian could make out was ‘alone’. The pain in her voice tore at Sebastian’s heart. Unable to just sit and listen to it any longer, he climbed up next to her and pulled her into his arms.

“You’re not alone, Anabel. I’m here. I’m here.” He said it over and over, hoping she'd hear him.

The sobbing finally stopped, and he pulled her closer, repeating it once more. "I'm here. You're not alone."

“I’m not alone.” He heard her say. He looked down in surprise. For the first time in hours her eyes were open and she was looking at him and actually seeing him. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair dark with perspiration.

He smoothed it back from her face. “You’re not alone.” He said tenderly.

Her hand tightened on his shirt. “Mine.” she said softly.

“Yes. Yours.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her eyes closed and she seemed to be resting now. He put her back onto the bed and pulled the covers up around her. When he straightened up he realized that Anders had left the room. 

 

Three days after the duel with the Arishok, Hawke’s fever still hadn’t broken. 

A message had come from the Gallows on the second day, ordering the return of Cullen and the mages. Cullen had apologized profusely, but truthfully there was little they could do for her at this point. 

It was growing dark when Sebastian walked into Hawke’s room to relieve Anders. The mage was standing at the foot of the bed staring at Hawke.

Sebastian looked over at her. She was so frail now, dark shadows under her eyes, a hectic flush still on her cheeks. Her hair was in two braids, Orana’s work to try and keep it from tangling. It made her look more childlike, more helpless. Her breath seemed shallow and too fast. She was no longer delirious or thrashing about; she no longer had the strength for it.

Sebastian had never felt more helpless in his life.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Anders admitted without looking at Sebastian. He sounded utterly defeated. “She can’t last much longer like this.” 

Sebastian felt as a knife had been plunged into him. It shouldn’t be a surprise; he’d watched her growing weaker day by day, but to have Anders say it out loud somehow made it real. “Is there no hope?” he asked.

Anders looked at him then. “Doesn’t your Chantry teach that there’s always hope? 'Dream and idea, hope and fear. Endless possibilities’. Isn't that what they say?" His voice was filled with scorn.

Sebastian couldn’t hide his surprise. “I never expected to hear you quoting the Chant.”

“They made sure to drum it into our skulls in the Circle. Along with the verses about being foul and corrupt and fit only to serve man.” 

“If that’s how the verses were taught to you, then I’m sorry.” He said sincerely.

Anders stared at him in disbelief. “Can you truly still have faith in this absent Maker of yours, seeing her lying there like that?’ He demanded, pointing to the small figure in the bed.

Sebastian’s eyes went back to her. He felt his throat grow tight. He imagined how dark the world would seem without Anabel in it. If the Maker did this, allowed Anabel to die so young, after all she had done for others, after everything she had been through, what would happen to his Faith? For the first time he felt uncertain about it. 

How could he face a life without her? 

Out of nowhere he suddenly remembered coming upon his grandfather reciting the Canticle of Trials after his grandmother Meghan had died. He couldn't have been more than four or five, but he could hear that deep gravelly voice with its familiar Starkhaven burr as clearly as if the man were standing beside him.

 _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_Though all before me is shadow,_  
_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

The pain and fear lessened, still there, but bearable now. “Yes.” He answered, his voice unwavering. “I still have faith.”

Anders shook his head. “I don’t know whether to envy you or pity you. I’m going to try and get some sleep. I think the crisis will come tonight.” He walked out before Sebastian could respond.

He walked over to the chair that had become a fixture at the side of the bed and lowered himself into it. He softly recited the verse, out loud this time. When he lifted his head he found Anabel’s eyes open and looking at him. He dropped to his knees beside her so his face was level with hers.

“Ana?” He said anxiously. He felt her forehead. The fever hadn’t lessened.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” She asked in a hoarse whisper.

“No.” he shook his head denying it.

She smiled wistfully. “Lying is a sin, Brother Sebastian.” 

He opened his mouth to deny it but found he couldn’t speak, so he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to die. There’s so much I still wanted to do. I don’t want to leave you, but I’m so tired. I can’t fight anymore. Let me rest, Sebastian. I just want to stop. Please. I wouldn’t be alone. I could be with Mother and Da and Bethany. I would see you again someday. Please. Just let me rest.” Her eyes were filled with tears, pleading with him to let her go.

_Take from me a life of sorrow_  
_Lift me from a world of pain_  
_Seat me by Your side in death_  
_Make me one within Your glory_

The verse echoed unspoken in his head. He knew that death wasn’t an end, he truly believed that. If the worst happened, he knew he’d see her again at the Maker's side. 

_No_. Everything in him roared out against the mere thought of it.

Electric blue determination filled his eyes. He moved to the bed, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanked her upright and she let out a whimper at the sudden movement.

“Don’t you dare, Anabel Hawke.” He said fiercely. “Don’t you dare give up. Don’t you dare stop fighting. Don’t you dare leave me.” He ordered, only dimly aware that he was shouting at her. “Don’t you dare. You are going to make it through this, no matter how hard it is. You are mine, and I am not letting you go. If I have to follow you into the Fade and drag you back myself, I will, do you hear me?” He demanded, his voice suddenly choking with emotion. 

He saw a flash of something in her eyes. The smallest hint of her usual spark. It made him hope.

She nodded slowly.

“Good.” He lowered her gently back to the bed. “Good.” He repeated. He pulled the covers up around her.

“Big bully.” She whispered, with just a hint of a smile.

“Yes.” He admitted freely. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She gripped his hand tightly. “Don’t let go.” Her eyes closed again but her hand remained tightly clasping his.

“I won’t.” He whispered.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see Aveline standing in the doorway. She entered the room and handed him a cup of tea. He put it on the nightstand and turned back to Anabel. Aveline stood beside him.

“You should get some rest.” She said. Her normally gruff voice was gentler than he had ever heard it.

“I can’t. Not now. Anders thinks the crisis will come tonight.” 

She didn’t argue. She looked down at Hawke her expression softening. She hesitated a moment. “Isabela’s left Kirkwall. Varric told her that Hawke might…” she stopped at the look on his face. “That it was serious.” 

Sebastian didn’t care. He wiped Anabel’s face with a cool damp cloth. 

Aveline watched him her eyes filled with sympathy. She looked at Anabel’s hand, wrapped securely in his own.

“You’re the only one she lets boss her around.” She told him. “That has to mean something.” 

“I’m not letting her give up.” He said stubbornly, not taking his eyes from Anabel.

“If she listens to anyone it’ll be you.” Aveline rested her hand briefly on his shoulder and then left the room.

He remained there unmoving for hours. The others drifted in and out. He heard Orana weeping at some point and resolutely shut it out of his mind. Anders returned and after a quick examination repeated his belief that the crisis would happen soon, in the next few hours. He ignored the mage as well. Unable to do anything else, he prayed. 

He was still praying when he realized something had changed. He didn't hear that harsh shallow breathing any longer. Her hand felt cool. She wasn’t holding on any longer, her hand lay slackly in his. He quickly reached up to touch her cheek. Also cool. Fear gripped his heart. “No! Anabel!”

Anders, who had been dozing in the chair, leapt to his feet, and pushed Sebastian out of the way. "Hawke?" he shouted, leaning over her.

The commotion woke everyone else. Those who hadn’t been in the room quickly rushed in.

Anders was feeling for Hawke’s pulse, first in her wrist, and then her neck. He put a hand on her forehead and then pulled up an eyelid.

Hawke mumbled irritably and tried to pull away from him, reaching up and pushing his hand away. She rolled over on her side away from him and burrowed into the pillow.

Anders started laughing. “Oh bless you Hawke. You did it.” The others stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, still not sure, still not daring to hope. “The fever’s broken. She’s going to make it.”

There was a moment of silence and then everyone was laughing and crying and hugging each other. Sebastian fell to his knees at her side, unable to take his eyes from her. She had done it. She hadn’t given up. He took her hand in his and kissed it, and it was only when he felt the tears fall on his hand that he realized he was weeping with relief.

 

Sebastian, Fenris, Anders and Varric left the mansion together later that day. The chantry bells were tolling mournfully.

Sebastian frowned, wondering what was taking place.

“The Viscount’s funeral.” Fenris commented. “Aveline left earlier to attend. Meredith has insisted all the guard be present.”

“The sooner a new Viscount is chosen the better. Any word as to who that might be?” Anders asked Varric.

“A lot of people want the job, but most seem to think our Champion is the one for it.”

“Hawke as viscount.” Mused Anders. “The city could do worse.”

“Far worse.” Said Fenris.

“Viscount Anabel Hawke.” Said Varric, trying the title out. He looked at Sebastian. “Or is it Viscountess?”

Sebastian’s didn’t answer him. Something else had caught his attention. “If all the guard are at the funeral, then what’s that noise?” 

Metal boots on cobblestone. A full contingent of Templars, anonymous in their helmets, rounded the steps from the Hightown market. They marched past the four of them and resolutely up the stairs of the Keep. All they could do was stare after them as they passed. 

“Apparently the Knight-Commander, is claiming the post.” Varric said bleakly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal head canon alert: I've always thought that magical healing, since it's part of the Creation School of magic would be unable to cure an infection, which requires the destruction of whatever bacteria are causing it. As the Dragon Age wiki puts it, "Spirit healers focus on restoration, not destruction." So it isn't the wound that nearly does Anabel in, but the infection that follows.
> 
> Anabel's reaction to the uber-healing potion was inspired by my own experiences when I was given morphine once. I'm told I was very entertaining. I don't remember much except for how vivid all the colors were and having the uneasy feeling that I was shouting when I talked.
> 
> This brings us to the end of Part II. I'm going to play with a timeline of the next section a bit. Instead of having nothing happen for three years and then everything happen all at once, the events of Act III will take place over the course of three years, and may not necessarily happen in the order they did in the game.
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone who has been reading and leaving kudos and encouraging comments. I know I should be all "Oh, I have confidence in what I'm doing", but truthfully the comments and kind words help keep me inspired. I don't think I would have gotten this far without them.
> 
> I'll start Part III soon. As I've said before, it will move beyond mere longing glances and kisses....way, way beyond it. 
> 
> That's not to say there won't be a bit of teasing and tormenting before it happens.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story.
> 
> And on to Part III -- All That Might Be: Choices
> 
>  
> 
> Reference pictures, as well as Dragon Age related ramblings are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


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